The Incident at Iybraesil (Part 1, Wrath of the Imperium fanseries)
by Hatful Hollow
Summary: In the 42nd millennium, there is an anchor of light amidst the sea of everlasting darkness, as old legends fade and new ones arise. An Alpha Legion Terminator finds himself stranded in the Craftworld Iybraesil. Alone and with no way of escape, the lone Astartes must brave a nagging Farseer and hordes of athletic Howling Banshees with their wrathful Exarch. Contains some romance.
1. Chapter 1: Advent

Hello, there reader! Thank you for deciding to read the first 'book' of my Wrath of the Imperium fan series. This is fic is that features a roster of original characters from multiple factions interacting with each other in a novel-like setting. Each Act can be considered a 'book' in this series and will each feature a particular set of different characters related to the ones of the previous books. Anyhow, this concept of mine has been floating around my head for two months and I've finally decided to give it a try. Enjoy! Criticism and reviews are much appreciated.

Edit (Oct 5, 2019): Upon proofreading the entire story, I noticed there were a lot of grammatical errors that needed to be fixed. I also realized that some portions of the story were lacking in detail so I've removed and added some parts. To those of you who have read the story before this edit, I suggest you read the beginning again. Sorry for the inconvenience.

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**Chapter 1: Advent**

_Segmentum Pacificus, M42. 325_

_A nearby blue giant comes into the horizon as the Craftworld Iybraesil drifts aimlessly in the vast currents of space known by the Imperium of Man as the " Segmentum Pacificus" Ever since the great 13th Black Crusade by Abbadon the Despoiler and the formation of the Great Rift that tore the galaxy in half nearly 700 years ago, life in Iybraesil has never gotten more turbulent and harsh. No longer could the Eldar of this craftworld obtain their much-desired Spirit stones with the ease and opportunities they once had a millennium earlier thanks to the Mon'keigh and their corrupt brethren. To add insult to injury, they now have to deal with constant raids from different chaos daemons, most specifically the ones from she-who-thirsts._

_Thanks to the support of nearby Craftworlds and a Drukhari warhost, Iybraesil has managed to successfully emerge victorious against the assaults of those malevolent beings. For the longest time, the inhabitants of Iybraesil have believed themselves fortunate enough to have been spared the worst end of the stick compared to what the rest of the galaxy had received. The major cause behind this widespread belief was the fact that not a single Chaos Space Marine warband has yet to attack the craftworld. This single thought had made many of Iybraesil's inhabitants lax and lessened their resolve to worry about such a thing ever happening in the near future. They will soon find themselves to be suffering the consequences of such naivety…_

Farseer Gilgalad meditates silently in the gardens in the upper spire of the Ivory halls, deep within the Citadel of wisdom. Long amber hair tied to a pointy ponytail stretches evenly across her back.

Her consciousness floats amidst the realms of her mind as the scent of her trance-inducing incenses allows their way into her nostrils. She finds herself exploring the realm of her own mind, reliving past memories and recalling events her predecessors played a role in. Her psychic prowess is unmatched in many Craftworlds, except for those of Biel-tan and Ulthwe. It is by no means weak, for she possesses a profound ability in seeing events that dig deep into the Galaxy's history. On different occasions, she has witnessed generous glimpses of random events throughout the past ten millennia. Amongst the most notable of these was that of their beloved Empire that once ruled the galaxy and its harrowing collapse. Another was the rise of the Phoenix Lords on the planet Asur and then the rest was most distasteful to her. The rise of the Imperium and the destruction of many minor Craftworlds during the Great Crusade, the most venerable Farseer Eldrad Ulthran warning that foolish Emperor of his Primarch's betrayal.

If one were to see Gilgalad's expression as she meditated, it would be one of anger and frustration. Gilgalad hated humanity and everything they stood for. It was they who had torn the galaxy in half and submerged it to hell. It was they who prevented her people from pulling themselves back together after the great fall. Then why was it that she keeps on receiving visions of the Mon'keigh? This was a question, she was unable to answer for herself as she delved into the visions that the warp tossed at her. It was all fine until she finally stumbled into a vision that foretold her of the future. The contents of her vision then shook her to the very core.

The Farseer then awakens her trance as she rises up with her staff in hand. She heads down the floating stairway and heads towards the exit of the Ivory halls. It's there that a grey-blue Guardian stands patiently, waiting for the Farseer to return. Her helmet has a shade of red akin to that of ruby and is adorned with the sacred emblem of her craftworld, the hand of Morai-Heg, the Crone goddess of Eldar mythology.

"Atayri". Said the Farseer.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Summon the council and call the Autarch back from the patrol, I have received a vision foretelling a great danger for our craftworld." said the Farseer.

"I shall do so at once, my Lady!" said Atayri.

The Guardian then salutes the Exarch and as she departs through the adjacent direction.

Gilgalad bit her lip as her expression begins to frown with great worry.

"So the tainted Mon'keigh have finally turned their attention towards us. Morai-Heg save us all..." said the Farseer as she exited the Ivory Halls and into the central section of the citadel where the council room is located.

_**Iybraesil Spaceport, a few hours later…**_

The Craftworld's warhost arrives from a huge webway portal. A large blue ship with thrusters similar to gills normally found in aquatic creatures emerges from the portal followed by other smaller vessels. They are worn out and damaged, a testament to the ferocity of the expedition they underwent. Civilians looking up above would notice that the ships that arrived belonged to the fleet of the honored Exarch Nardual of the Dire Avengers aspect warriors, his flagship serving a testament to the pride of Iybraesil. Unbeknownst to even the Exarch, the fleet brings with them a presence. A presence that would be most unwelcome by all of the Craftworld's inhabitants.

An Alpha Legion Terminator gazes at the horizon through a small window. The blue giant shines its azure light upon the world, slipping through its thick and translucent glass, resulting in a vibrant glow at the skyline. A metropolis rests below while dozens of smooth, white pillars reach towards an artificial sky. Their construction is a pinnacle of beauty and function unseen in any Imperial world, as small cities can be found in these tube-like pillars connected by dozens of branching 'highways' that connect each pillar to the other. Perhaps they serve as mementos to the might of the fallen Aeldari Empire of ages past.

"I gotta hand it to them, Eldar architecture is truly extravagant. Unlike those claustrophobic Hive cities in Imperial worlds, they really know how to maximize their space evenly. Those Imperial architects really need to take notes from the Long ears!" said Terminator Andron.

The flagship then slowly descends upon a large platform located at the center of the spaceport. It gently lands upon the surface while the smaller vessels then follow suit. Andron watches the ship's warriors and crewmen descend from a ramp carrying their belongings and scars of battle. Their arrival is no cause of any celebration, even though losses in the expedition were unusually minor, exhaustion runs deeply amongst the warriors of the host.

Andron looked through the visor of his Lernean pattern helmet and it tagged only less than a hundred Xenos life signs with its Terror sight. He notices a few Eldar porters heading towards the cargo bay with floating carts. They then began unloading the ship's _precious_ cargo sealed within tightly sealed black crates. _Precious_ is that they are quality spirit stones desperately harvested from the crone worlds of the lost Cadian sector, as Andron had checked earlier. He then notices the ship's commander, Exarch Nardual, giving out instructions to each of the porters as he peeped at them from the ship's window.

"Place these amongst the storages in the _Irillyth junction_. Inform the council that the expedition was a success with very minor losses," said Nardual

"_Oh, how terribly mistaken you are, dear Xenos. The ships you've brought home with you make the perfect Troisian (Trojan) horses. The Alpha Legion has made your sorry excuse of a world its next target." _Thought Terminator Andron.

Andron notices the final ship of the Iybraesil warhost land in the port from the huge webway portal. The pale blue vessel lands on an empty space in the dock as it deactivates its Fin-like thrusters. Beneath his visor, Andron's eyelids sink down as his irises began to expand. His eyesight zooms in closely at the latest arrival as his Terror sight marks down around forty non-Xenos life signs aboard the Eldar vessel.

"That's my cue!" said Andron.

His hulking figure then leaves the window as he conveniently walks the now empty corridors in the ship's hull. The crew of the ship has since departed the vessel, seeking respite after the dangerous mission to the crone worlds. As planned, he exits through the ship's other exit in the more obscured area facing the edge of the port's vast platform.

Andron hurriedly sneaks his way through different blind spots in the port and the lax security only made it even easier despite his sluggish speed. He makes his way towards the newly arrived vessel and spots a Scorpion tank covered with a large fabric. He tugs the fabric and sneaks in between the vehicle's 'pincers'. However, due to his large and bulky figure, Andron has to quietly bend the long shafts that serve as the turrets of the vehicle for him to fit in between them.

Covered by the large fabric, Andron slightly lifts the cloth for him to get a view of the infiltrated ship right before him. Exarch Nardual is seen heading towards the final ship, having noticed that its crew still hasn't left the vessel.

"Captian Legoras, please open the cargo hold for the porters!" shouts the Xenos in his filthy, psychic tongue.

No response for a few moments. Nardual was about to walk closer to the craft when the cargo hold finally opens. Andron watches silently with the most anticipation.

A puff of mist is released as the vessel's cargo bay opens up to the porters waiting below. The Eldar porters then resume their duties unloading the large packages from the ship as wide ramp revealing the side entrance of the vessel unfolds itself in a minimalistic fashion. A so-called "Dire Avenger" aspect warrior with a red sash in his waste steps down from the ramp and confronts the Exarch of his shrine. The Captain salutes the exarch immediately as steps of the ramp.

"My Exarch, I must congratulate you on the success of our mission! We have sustained minor losses well below our expected margins in an operation of this level, may the great Asuryan be praised!"

" My deepest thanks, Captain! Come, let us all celebrate our success with a toast! Speaking of which, where is the rest of your crew? Why have they not yet come out?" said the Exarch.

"Oh, they are just packing away their belongings and bandaging their wounds. They should be out soon," replied Legolas

The Exarch noted the rather unusual tone the Captain has. He could also see the repetitive mannerisms rippling across his fingers.

"Well then, I shall assist in carrying our wounded brothers and sisters to the healing center. You may take your leave, Captain!"

"Sir!" says Legoras as he salutes his Exarch a final time before leaving.

Exarch Nardual heads up the ramp and heads into the hull of the vessel where the crew awaits. He sees no signs of Legoras' crew anywhere, not even a single whisper or sound of activity. The air starts to get heavy and chilly as if he were on a frozen world, he believes this may be because the ship's flux engine has already switched off but his senses tell him that something is… wrong. Chills run down the veteran Exarch's spine as he then pulls his Power Spear as he walks the ships dimly lit corridors as moves towards the gathering hall. As he neared the doorway, his boot steps on a squishy object. The Exarch then lowers his glowing power spear towards the object, revealing it to be a severed limb of one of his fellow Dire Avengers, causing his eyes to widen with shock.

The Exarch hurriedly bursts through the main door of the gathering hall. His greatest fears are revealed to him before his very eyes as he sees the corpses of his fellow kin all piled in a single spot, horribly dismembered with the anguish in their faces just as apparent as the bottle sized holes on their bodies. Each of their spirit stones is all missing, perhaps destroyed.

"What… WHAT IS THIS?!" shouts the Exarch as his fear turned into an intense fury, his power spear glowing brightly.

"_It's just the beginning of the end, my dear Exarch!"_ said a familiar voice in a sinister tone.

The Exarch turns around to see Captain Legoras standing silently with his power sword drawn. He quickly raises his spear and aims it at Legoras

"Treachery! By Asuryan you will pay fo-"

Captain Legoras decapitates the Exarch, his lifeless body then collapsing to the floor with a large, flat plain now remaining where Nardual's head once stood.

"Well done, Xenos!" says a heavy voice.

"You have done us a great boon today, Xenos! Now, it's time for you to join your friend in the realm of the Dark prince!" said a huge figure obscured in the dark.

Legoras then proceeds to point his sword towards his chest. His arms begin to shake intensely as desperately tries to resist his captor's psychic control.

"Any last words?" says the voice.

"I eternally curse you and your foul masters, Mon'Keigh! May the avatar-"

"That's quite the tongue you have there, Xenos" said the obscured figure with an irritated tone.

Legoras' arms plunge his straight through his chest, the sword's weapon spirit glowing immensely through the gem in the hilt.

"… Khaine tear you to shreds…" said Legoras as his life-force pours across the cold and smooth floor.

A large gauntlet hand picks up the green spirit stone attached to the Captain's chest armor and crushes it to dust, sending Legoras' spirit flying off to the Immaterium.

The large man carries a long staff with the sigil of an eight-pointed star with an eye at the center, the armor he dons has a lighter shade of blue and a tinge of deep purple with heraldry depicting an insignia of a hand with five fingers each having the head of a vicious dragon. His helmet is adorned with scale-like patterns and four draconic horns stick out. A green sash surrounds his waist and flutters as he walks towards his fellow battle-brothers waiting in the dark.

"Brothers, the hour is upon us! We shall strike at the very heart of this Craftworld and plunge every last Xeno living here to the deepest pit of despair! Our masters, including the Dark Prince whom these Xenos so righteously fear will be most pleased in our gifts!"

The Chaos Astartes cheer with approval.

"Brother-Captain Ouroboros!" said the Chaos Lord. A hulking Terminator with tusks sticking out his helmet approaches his lord and kneels.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"In a day's time, you shall take a detachment of our band into this Craftworld's infinity circuit and conduct the ritual to summon our reinforcements waiting in the Immaterium. We shall offer the souls of those dead Xeno souls to our hungry masters! Oh and please signal the rest of our brothers in the other vessels."

"The Hand of Doom vanquishes all! GLORIA IMMATERIUM!"

"GLORIA IMMATERIUM!" shouts the rest of his warband

Beneath the visor of his corrupted helmet, a wide smile of excitement emerges from the face of Barazan Nartos, Chaos Lord of the Hand of Doom warband.

"_With the death of this pathetic craftworld, the great gods will reward me the title and rank of Daemon Prince and then I shall become unstoppable! No one, be it the __**Anathema **__or that foolish wretch Alpharius!" _thought Barazan.

Suddenly, a voice is heard from the back of the hull. It seems that for all the careful planning and chaotic magicks this offshoot warband has, they had forgotten how to remain silent.

"Hello? Exarch Nardual? Captain Legoras? We have finished unloading most of the cargo, where would like us to place them?" echoes the voice of an Eldar youth anticlimactically.

Barazan signals one of his men to get rid of the Xenos.

At the cargo bay of the vessel, three porters await further instructions from the Exarch, oblivious to the danger that claimed his life.

"Idial! Where are you going?" said a female Eldar.

"I shall go inside and speak with the Exarch. He and the crew are taking far too long inside. You and Cyrdan wait there"

Idial then disappears into the inner hull of the ship. The two Eldar then sit in a corner, trying to catch their breath after unloading all of that cargo.

A few minutes pass by and Idial still has not returned with instructions from the Exarch. The two Eldar porters start to grow suspicious as to what's happening on the inside. They then hear a few loud metallic thuds heading in their direction.

"Idial! Is that you? What's happening over there?"

They discover their answer when Idial comes back flying towards them. Well, a portion of his upper torso at least. The two Eldar stand completely still with utter shock as they stare at his butchered corpse.

"AAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEE" shouts the female Eldar.

The loud metallic footsteps reveal themselves to be a Chaos Space Marine, clad in navy blue armor carrying both a chainsword and a bolter with each hand. The chainsword is freshly caked with Idial's ichor, its sawed teeth lined with the gore torn from his flesh.

"Leothelia! Run and get help, the Mon'Ke-"

Cydran barely finished his sentence before his face blown into bits by the Astartes' bolter.

Leothelia quickly vaults over behind the cover of some crates as the Heretic Astartes began discharging his weapon at her. The bolter's high caliber rounds began chewing their way through the different crates before taking a pause.

Leothelia then hears the Astartes' footsteps heading towards her. Fortune graces its touch upon the helpless Eldar when a plasma grenade conveniently falls right in front of her from one of the ruined crates. She takes the grenade, arms it and tosses it to where the Astartes stands. She then desperately sprints outside the exit as the grenade detonates, partially damaging the Chaos Marine.

The enraged Astartes then hurriedly pursues the defiant Xeno wench as he exits the cargo bay, only to bump into a huge Lernean Terminator.

"Hello, brother! I got bored waiting for the lord's orders. Has he said anything yet?"

Said Andron.

"Scram, tubbo! I'll that rip pathetic Xeno insect to shreds!" spoke the Chaos Astartes as he scolded Andron.

"Xenos bug? I'm afraid I haven't seen any Warp Spiders around here, brother" said Andron as he feigned ignorance.

The Chaos Astartes spots the Eldar woman in the distance, running beside some of the docked Windrider bikes.

"Move, you half-wit! She'll warn her comrades!" said the Chaos Marine as he shoved past Andron.

"Wait! You still haven't told me the lord's orders!" said Andron as he placed his armored palm on his brother's shoulder pad.

"He said to head towards the Infinity circuit with Brother Ouroboros and...Wait, you're not from our Warba-"

Andron then crushes the Marine's shoulder pad with his palm and pulls him closer as he raises his right Power fist where a sharp runic blade protrudes. The blade then pierces through the Heretic's skull as if it were soft butter, killing him instantly.

Andron then casts the carcass of the Heretic Astartes aside and vanishes off into the shadows. He then lifts his Power Gauntlet and presses a button embedded into it.

"One down. Fifty-nine remaining…" he says.

Meanwhile, the female Eldar named Leothelia, still desperately running for her life, began shouting for help.

"RAISE THE ALARM! CALL THE GUARDIANS! THE MON'KEIGH ARE ATTACKING!" she shouts.

The other Eldar porters look at Leothelia with great astonishment. For some reason, they believe her to be jesting at them and began shaking their heads with disbelief. It remained as such until one of the ships in the port suddenly bursts into a large ball of fire. The explosion came from the Exarch's flagship and it caused a chain reaction to some of the other vessels docked in the area, one of which included two detachments of Chaos Space Marines.

"WHAT IN TZEENTCH'S NAME IS THIS? I DID NOT ORDER ANY EXPLOSIONS!" shouted Barazan as his retinue made their way towards one of the ports exits.

"My lord, our presence here has been exposed and the other squads have been crippled by sudden explosions! Shall we still proceed with the plan?" said Terminator Ouroboros.

Barazan pondered for a moment as to what alternative options he may proceed with. He scoffs and beneath his helmet, a deep scowl forms across his corrupted face.

"Captain Ouroboros! I need you and your detachment to remain here and await my return. Thanks to this disturbance, the Xenos will have their infinity circuit under tight security and their troops will be here any moment. With our Cultist squads in disarray, I must return back to our world and gather reinforcements. By the time I return, I expect the Craftworld's defenses paralyzed enough to fall to our invasion. Do not fail me, Captain!"

"Yes my lord! The Xenos will tremble in their despair!" said the Terminator.

The Chaos Lord and Ouroboros' squad then make their separate ways with much haste. Barazan and his men board an undamaged Eldar craft and fly off into the webway portal while Ouroboros' squad vanishes into thin air, abandoning their fellow battle-brothers and their cultist minions to the flames.

It takes around five minutes for a force of Eldar Guardians in Waveriders and two squads of Howling Banshees led by an Exarch named Liandrel to converge at the port. They arrive to see the pitiful state of the spaceport with numerous vehicles and ships reduce to a burning ruin.

They make quick work of the disorderly Chaos Astartes and their cultist minions, mercilessly cutting them down with their Power swords and blasting them to pieces with their Shuriken rifles.

"Those ships were from our Exarch's expeditionary fleet! Where is our Exarch?" shouted a Dire Avenger.

"If those Mon'keigh were aboard his ships, then I fear the worst has happened!" said another Dire Avenger.

Exarch Liandrel of the Dire Screams aspect shrine overhears their conversation and approaches them with much haste.

"Where is he?! Where is Nardual?" says Liandrel

"We do not know, Exarch Liandrel! His flagship has already been destroyed and he may already-"

The Howling Banshee exarch then shoves the Avenger to the ground.

"DO NOT SAY SUCH THINGS! I WILL FIND HIM MYSELF!" shouted the Exarch as she sprinted off with much haste.

She then sees a large, undamaged ship with its ramp open and beside it lays the corpse of a dead Chaos Astartes. She then enters the vessel and searches around.

"Nardual! My dear, where are you?" she says worriedly. She searches the upper decks and the command center of the ship with no avail and no sign of Nardual anywhere. Finally, she makes her way into the gathering hall of the vessel where its crew would often have their meals.

She then finds the Exarch and the gruesome fate he and the ship's crew had suffered. She drops both knees and examines the decapitated head of her beloved. Unlike the other corpses, Nardual's face has retained his righteous fury even in death. To her great surprise, the Exarch's spirit stone remains intact and undamaged and she removes it from his lifeless chest gently.

"UAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" mourns Exarch Liandrel as she holds Nardual's spirit stone closely to her chest.

"My dear, I'm sorry… I'm so sorry..I…" muttered Liandrel.

A few dozen footsteps could be heard approaching her from the entrance of the gathering hall.

"Exarch Liandrel, are you alrig-". Said a Howling Banshee before stopping completely upon seeing the corpses.

The Exarch cries woefully for a few minutes while grasping the spirit stone upon her bosom. She then rises up with her Diresword in hand and grips it tightly.

"My dear sisters, the Mon'keigh have infiltrated our Craftworld, wrecked our vessels and slain an Exarch and his crew… We must repay this transgression with their spilled blood!"

The other Howling Banshees scream and raise their swords with extreme approval.

"**BY KHAINE, ALL OF THEM SHALL SUFFER AS OUR KIN HAVE!" **said Liandrel with utmost fury in her tone.

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_Andron gazes at the spaceport carefully from a distance, watching the Eldar forces punishing the Chaos invaders with absolutely no quarter. They execute all the surviving Astartes and cultists with brutal efficiency, living up to their renowned name. The mysterious Terminator then departs, blending into the shadows once more to pursue Ouroboros and his detachment to prevent them from executing whatever dreadful plans they have for the Craftworld's Infinity circuit._


	2. Chapter 2: Stranger in a strange world

**Hey, it's been a while. A summary for the past 3 weeks is basically what nearly every author in this site has said: "College blah blah midterms has been difficult as hell" Well regardless of all that crap my profs have sent me through for midterms (comparable to being shot into a Tyranid anus) I managed to dedicate ample time to finish this second, lengthy chapter. Whew... I think I overdid this one by a mile and I sincerely hope I made the wait worth it. Please tell me what you guys think. **

**So anyway, I've been reading tons of lore about the Eldar and I can't help but notice that we still don't know much about their fallen Empire. We don't know who the head of state was, the name of their throneworld and its whereabouts. Also, I've read somewhere that Eldar tech became so advanced they had a machine that could do whatever some wished (a miracle machine). It's from a Luetin05 Eldar vid if I recall correctly. I wonder if he was correct about this though.**

** Lastly, I hope you enjoy!**

\- H.H.

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**Chapter 2: Stranger in a strange world**

_**Citadel of Wisdom, Council room. 8 hours before the bombing of the Spaceport.**_

The Inner sanctum of the Citadel of Wisdom is an area of closed doors. Sealed with the tightest security provided by Elite Guardians and vast arcane wards, it is no doubt an area of great importance within the Craftworld. It is here that the very rulers of the Craftworld, the Seer Council, convene to discuss and decide upon crucial actions and matters most concerning the fate of their people. Converging at the very heart of the Inner sanctum, the council room is a place venerated with immense distinction and prestige.

The council room, if it could still be called such, is a circular courtyard with dotted with lush trees and intricate vegetation with marble-like walkways embedded with glimmering stones. Priceless statues honed to the finest detail occupy the garden in specific locations, those representing the old Divinity are placed closest to the center of the courtyard where the council would gather. The center of the courtyard is a circular disc-table atop a platform and around it, multiple chairs reserved for each member of the Seer Council. It's here where the marble-like floors meet, where the embedded stones begin shining like twinkling stars. An ethereal pond of dual sides flow with water, its body encircling the platform as pools of light and dark intersect with each other at the center point. Directly above two certain points on both sides of the platform are reserved seats for the two most important members of the Seer Council.

Farseer Gilgalad sits serenely on a black seat as she awaits the arrival of her fellow councilmen. She inhales deeply and looks upward, gazing at the empty quiet void of space as she clears her mind of any irrelevant thoughts. Exhaling afterward, she returns to reality once more as she lets out a soft smile while admiring the scenery around her. The Citadel of Wisdom is a place with a dense atmosphere filled with thick incenses, ceaseless chanting and to an extent, gloomy isolation. The courtyard is one of her most preferred places to stay above all in the entire Craftworld as it is not only a place of exquisite beauty but also a reminder of the solemn duty she has towards her people.

It is here in this very place that she doesn't need to feel the troubles of her empyric burden. Surrounding the platform are the inanimate statues of bloody-handed Khaine, Isha, the Crone, the Jester, and the Hunter. Their cold and blank stares as lifeless as the empty void in between stars.

" _Just where may the King be?" _thought the Farseer in reflection.

Just then Gilgalad's peaceful solitude ends when she hears a few footsteps approaching the platform. A figure clad in armor colored dominantly red and portions of blue comes into the Farseer's view, a red sash could be seen around the person's waist bearing the severed hand of Morai-Heg. The figure is a woman with amber hair, although trimmed to a shorter length in contrast to the Farseer's whose hair reaches the waist. On both sides of her waist are a dire-sword and a custom shuriken pistol with a shorter barrel not commonly seen in the Craftworld's armories.

This person is none other than Gilgalad's sister, the audacious Autarch Galandrin. Her skin is of a slightly darker tone, unlike Gilgalad's. A scar could be found in her neck downwards, a mark obtained in the ferocity of battles from years past.

"How is my older sister fairing today?" said Galandrin as she approached her sister and embraced her.

"Galandrin!" said the Farseer.

"The patrols have been strangely pleasant. Ever since that Orcish invasion some fifteen years ago, there hasn't been too much Mon'keigh activity in this sector. I rarely see large fleets of Imperial spacecraft emerging from the Warp anymore, it's like the Mon'keigh have finally given up fighting us."

"About the Mon'keigh…" said Gilgalad

"Sister, please don't tell me that your latest vision has something to do about them!"

Said Galandrin as she rolled her eyes towards the left.

"I must apologize but it has everything to do about those savages" replied Gilgalad.

"Tch… I shall take my seat, sister" said Galandrin with utmost exasperation.

Galandrin then heads over to the other side of the circular table and sits on her reserved white chair. Galandrin then crosses her arms together and then places her two feet atop the table.

"Galandrin, this is the council table. Would you please remove your feet?" said Gilgalad with her hand placed on her forehead.

"Before I start ranting, would you mind telling me what exactly those imbeciles have planned for us? " said Galandrin.

"Patience, dear sister, it is a lengthy vision and I need everyone to be here before I speak anything." replied the Farseer.

The Autarch was the polar opposite of her sister. The other side of the coin, the heat for the cold. Where Gilgalad was more reserved, reflective and silent the Autarch is a boisterous and tomboyish woman with a passion for warfare burning deep within her heart. Gilgalad was a romantic while Galandrin has never bothered herself with courtship, often challenging any man in a duel before allowing them to even ask her out.

She is a symbol of authority and leadership in the Craftworld's military, having led many warhosts and expeditions to numerous victories in the past. Her style of warfare utilizes feints and lightning-fast assaults that have caught even the dreaded Necrons off guard. Her strategical genius has allowed her to utilize the lesser numbers of her Craftworld's warhost against tides of foes such as Tyranids and Orcs.

However, Galandrin is no fool to the reality of their current condition. Even before the emergence of the Great Rift, Iybraesil's population has been slowly dwindling to the extent that they, much to their shame, have secretly resorted to producing vat-grown children. Perhaps the scarcity of males present in the Craftworld would be the main cause of this problem with the majority of the Craftworld's army being females, most of them Howling Banshees. Surprisingly, there are so few men in Iybraesil that it's no surprise to see a single man being fought over by a dozen women for courtship. Even the Seer council is no exception, only two of its twelve members are men.

Hidden deep within the minds of the older Eldar born in the previous millennia or prior, lies the truth behind the cause of the Craftworld's decline. A tragedy, stemming over five centuries prior, that no one would wish to speak of.

A conflict with the Imperium would be more than enough to drive Iybraesil to extinction, their spirit stones destroyed and their souls to eaten by she-who-thirsts. If anything, Galandrin would exhaust all her options and countermeasures to avoid any conflict with the mightiest bastion in the galaxy.

But fate always has other plans for the declining species and their mobile planets.

After a few minutes, the other members of the Seer council finally arrive from different locations and are seated at the round table. Atop the table is a worn-out phallic rune whose meaning has long since been absent from the Eldar tongue. In ages past, it once meant their proud name but its usage has vanished along with their vanquished realm.

Gilgalad stands up and bangs her staff on the studded, white floor. In that very instant, the meeting finally commences.

"I have summoned all of you here now, to inform you of my vision of most dire importance" Said Gilgalad.

"As I meditated in the Ivory Halls, a vision struck me foretelling an imminent invasion of our Craftworld. The images I've seen are fragmented and appear in no order. However, there remains a single figure prevalent in most of them: A giant clad in blue steel."

"This blue giant you speak of Farseer, can we assume it is a Mon'kiegh Space Marine?" asked a councilman.

"Yes, it is. In my vision, I see at first a demonic creature leading a warhost of Mon'keigh against our forces. Next, I witness the lights of all the spirit stones embedded on our Infinity circuit fade into nothingness as their lights slowly vanish. The last image I saw is most shocking, the blue giant clasping the hand of one of our people!"

In that very instant, as the Farseers last words left her mouth and flew into their ears, the entire council becomes shocked and disgusted at the idea of their kin willing to conspire or affiliate themselves with the barbaric Mon'keigh!

Or at least that's how they would interpret such a gesture to be. The council members then began speaking with one another incoherently, babbling and debating what the visions could be. The Farseer tries to calm down the tense situation to no avail as the meeting begins descends to confusion.

"Um, everyone! Please let us speak of these matters more-" said the Farseer as her words fell to deaf ears.

Irritated by the unrelenting cacophony of noise, Galandrin rises from her seat and inhales through her stomach.

"SILENCE, ALL OF YOU! THE FARSEER STILL HAS TO SPEAK!" shouted the Autarch with every potency unleashed in her voice.

Fearing the wrath of the Autarch, the council then shuts itself up and returns the attention towards the Farseer once more.

"Thank you. I need to know what each of you thinks about the visions I have seen so that we can all pool our wisdom to formulate a plan that can fend off this possible invasion. The very future of our people depends on how well we prepare for this onslaught." said the Farseer.

"You mentioned that a warp devil is leading the Mon'keigh against our forces. There is without a doubt that it belongs to the ruinous powers but which particular one? Could it be from she-who-thirsts?"

The very mention of she-who-thirsts sends a chill down the spines of some council members as they anticipated the Farseer's response.

"No. It does not. It bears not the markings nor the appearance of the minions of she-who-thirsts."

"Then does it belong to the other three?" said the councilman.

"...It's a bi-pedal serpent-like creature. It has long blades attached on the side of its arms and its skin is mostly black and matte. I recall seeing the creature having a long tail and a large mouth with sharp fangs. It doesn't appear to have any of the distinctive traits that the servants of the four usually possess" said Gilgalad.

"Then the answer is simple. If not one foul god, then all of them. That creature is a daemon of chaos undivided!" said the councilman.

Some of the council members gasp at the terrifying nature of the demon since it still means that they will be doomed to be eaten by she-who-thirsts.

"Does the demon lead any tainted Space Marines with it? If so, then which of the nine are they from?" said a female council member.

"Yes, it does. It's an entire force consisting of Space Marines. My memory of them is blurred and hazy but rest assured they are not of the Black Legion."

"And what of the blue giant?" asks Galandrin.

"I do not see him in this. I only see glances of him in our Infinity circuit and with one of our kin."

"Would you know of any distinction, emblems or insignias on the giant's armor?" asked Galandrin.

"The giant has the markings of a three-headed serpent throughout his scaly armor. I believe these are the markings of the mysterious 'Alpha Legion'. Have you ever had the chance to fight them before, Autarch?"

"No, I have not. But I am familiar with their way of warfare. I have heard that they the most unpredictable and subtle of all the tainted legions. Sneaky bastards that rely on dirty tricks and infiltration, their true allegiance remaining unclear to this very day. This is a troublesome foe we've come across." said the Autarch.

"I think our priority here would be to find this blue giant and secure our Infinity circuit." said one a council member.

"That is correct. However, we cannot overlook the fact that there is a traitor amongst our ranks." said the Autarch.

"Farseer, amongst all the visions you have told us I find your last one the strangest and most provoking." said one councilwoman.

"What do you mean, Seer Lyssa? Don't the Mon'keigh hold hands together as a sign of agreement?" said another council member.

"Farseer, do you recall how exactly the blue giant held our kin's hand?" said Lyssa.

"About that… I cannot say for sure but it looked as if the giant was holding it rather gently, I'm not sure of the reason behind such behavior." replied the Farseer.

"Was the hand that of an Eldar, Farseer?" asked Lyssa once more.

The rest of the council was astounded by Lyssa's question. Some of them could already sense to where she was heading and they didn't hesitate to show the disgust on their faces.

"I… I believe so. You couldn't mean to say that..." said the Farseer, at loss for words as she began to blush slightly. Oh wait, isn't she supposed to be disgusted instead?

"It's just a hypothesis, but I believe the giant holding our treacherous kin's hand may be quite intimate" replied Lyssa.

The Farseer gasped, covering her mouth with her right hand. The rest of the council was shocked to hear such an outrageous statement. Even Galandrin was startled by what Lyssa suggested.

"That's completely absurd! How dare you make a statement of such profanity and taboo!" ranted a councilman.

"The Mon'keigh and all their xenophobic pride would never commit such a heinous act! Why would one of our own ever fall to such depravity? To mingle with a dirty Mon'keigh? Explain yourself, Lyssa!"

"Please, it's just a hypothesis! It is only one from several different possibilities and-"

Lost in thought, Gilgalad paid little attention to the bickering between the two council members. Recollections of the images began rolling in her mind once more as if she were viewing them in a cinema. With ruined buildings in the background, a gigantic hand extends itself forward exposing its metallic palm towards an unseen person. Another hand reaches out, its bare skin is exposed and wounded by a cut. Its supple fingers shiver slightly as it slowly descends towards the palm of the giant to which the giant the gently clasps.

Without a doubt, the hand is feminine. With fair, white skin and trimmed fingernails apparent enough to prove that. But a realization dawned upon the Farseer about the identity of this woman being none other than herself. The very thought of her betraying her species for the inferior Mon'keigh caused her to curse in her breath and clench her teeth in fear for the terrible future awaiting her. She remains silent about this matter, however, not wishing the council to begin suspecting her as this supposed traitor.

For about another thirty minutes the council discusses what further action may be taken to secure their people from this oncoming invasion to their craftworld. It is then decided that the Infinity circuit must be placed under heavy security alongside powerful runic wards to prevent incursions from the warp. The Autarch must also increase the number of patrols and advance scouts to keep a watchful eye of the nearby sectors along the route of the Craftworld.

The meeting ends with further countermeasures being made just in case the preparations the council has decided upon prove to be futile against the anticipated invasion of the Alpha legion. A message is also delivered to Exarch Liandrel informing her of the presence of the blue giant in the Craftworld and how his elimination is necessary for winning this conflict.

The members of the council then depart to fulfill their required duties, each of them leaving in separate directions. Only the Farseer and the Autarch remain, the two engaging in a conversation.

"Sister, I'm deeply worried about something from my visions…" said the Farseer.

"What is it that worries you, sister?"

"I fear that the traitor in the vision maybe myself. By the gods, I don't know what would lead me to commit such a thing but I still fear for the worst."

"Hahaha, you? To elope and conspire with filthy Mon'keigh? With everything they've done to **our family**, that is only an act those degenerate Druchii would ever consent in doing."

" The fates have their plans, Lia. No matter how strong my convictions are the fates will always find a way to twist and break me to submission. Even the mightiest of warriors can be rendered helpless before them!"

"There is no need to worry. I am here to-"

"But what if my visions were wrong? What if one of the accursed four has made it so that I might be blind to their schemes and-" The Farseer began to panic, anxiety slowing clawing up her chest.

Galandrin then slaps the Farseer in the cheek. Gilgalad remains motionless for half a minute before slowly turning to face her disgruntled sister, a pinkish mark in the form of a palm now in her right cheek.

"Do not falter, sister. Your visions have done our Craftworld a boon more times than I could ever count! Together we both overcame the toughest challenges, endured through the harshest of times!"

" It has been too long since I fought alongside you in the path of the warrior and the passion I once felt then has vanished long ago. Ever since the emergence of the great scar, I sometimes feel as if the Rhana Dandra has finally come to forever mark our end" remarked Gilgalad sorrowfully.

"Your pessimism will not be our savior either. Our people require your wisdom more than ever! Amongst all the pupils of the late Farseer Tannrian, it was you who has shown to have the greatest potential You cannot abandon us to your anxieties now, sister!

"I'm far from falling to despair sister. It's just that lately, I have always had this tense feeling from within me that reminds me of that day from long ago. I fear that I may lack the strength to save our home from our enemies like back then."

She then grasps her sister's hand and squeezes it, gently.

"Do not succumb too much to your emotions, Gil! Remember that with our strength combined, only the most overwhelming odds can destroy us!"

"Galandrin..."

"Gil, whatever comes knocking at our door I swear by the name of Asuryan that I will never let them touch you. We never will be as strong as our ancestors but we can endure these dark times through sheer will alone! May Morai-Heg damn me for eternity if I fail!"

The Farseer then exhales and with that, any tension from within her is released. She firms her stance and looks directly at the Autarch.

"Get yourself together, sister. I have seen your strength and if our parents could see us now they would be so proud of you! Don't believe in yourself! Believe in me! Believe in the Autarch who believes in you!"

A smile quickly forms across her face, remembering just how many times she has repeated those particular words towards her since their childhood.

"*giggles* ... Now that's something I'd always like to hear from you!"

The two embrace each other once more before they make their separate ways.

"Never must you lose faith in one's self and the gods, sister!" said Galandrin as she waved goodbye.

"Mother...Father… We will avenge you both." whispered Gilgalad as she left the meeting room.

_**Iybraesil Central City, a day after the bombing.**_

Despite being a minor craftworld, Iybraesil's size is still equivalent to that of a small planet. Its bustling metropolis alone consisting of millions of Eldar living in quartered homes of varying sizes. Hive worlds are a far cry to how well the living units and commercial areas of the city have been arranged with every corner and plaza having the treatment and maintenance equal to that of a planetary governor's palace. Surely a city filled with Eldar on high alert should be no easy hiding place, right?

Andron's runic blade drips with the tainted blood of slain Chaos space marines as he stands on a puddle of ichor pouring out of their broken corpses. A Volkite charger hisses with a puff of smoke rising into the air. A mortal cultist in worn-out clothing and a shoddy chest plate with an eight-pointed star attached to it crawl futilely away from the Terminator only for his left arm to be crushed by his metallic foot.

"Aaaaaaarrrggggghhh!" shouted the Cultist.

Andron seizes the corrupted human with his power gauntlet and brings him closer to his visor.

"Before you meet your tragic end, would you mind tellin' me which direction your master headed?" commanded Andron.

"Hrrrr...hrumphhh… haaaaaahhhh…" said the Cultist incoherently as his blood-red eyes shot back at him, a stream of disgusting saliva poured out of his mouth.

"C'mon… It was already such a pain tracking your scattered party here and I honestly could use some slack… so how about you tell me WHERE. YOUR. MASTER. IS! Answer me before I mold you into a **fracking compass**! _I think I'd need to paint your other eye blue though…"_ said Andron impatiently.

"Huahahahaha… My master? Where? Oh, he's in the other place. Up there down there everywhere! Heheheheblblblblblblb… He's nowhere" said the crazed cultist.

"Last chance, meat shield. Where did the Terminator-Captain head off to?!" said Andron.

"Dunnoooo…. He probably with yer mum sonnnnyyyyy! AND THEN HE SHALL FEAST ON YOUR FLESH WITH ALL HIS GL-" shouted the deranged cultist at the top of his lungs.

He crushes the cultist's head and tosses him aside.

"Tch..." said Andron with much dismay.

He looks around to see if any Eldar begins heading towards his location, his terror-sight marking a few Xenos life signs within a 2-mile radius. Marked by red dots slowly headed towards a central point, Andron wastes no time fleeing the scene. Using a relatively small device on his left shoulder, Andron quickly scans the corpses of the dead Chaos Marines for their energy signatures and resumes his pursuit on Ouroboros.

"A thousand curses to that little cultist dip-shit!" said Andron as he turns around a corner.

Using a specialized radar, a GPS-like map appears on his visor and with a few blips mark out a location where multiple Chaos signatures are clumped together moving at a rather quick pace.

"There you are, tail-eater! The machine spirit within my _Riptide_ hungers for the cleansing of your tainted blood... You better wash that foul neck of yours because I'm coming for it!" said Andron with much excitement.

Bypassing a few crowded neighborhoods of Long-ears, Andron stealthily strides past a few Jetbike patrols and Guardians armed with Shuriken rifles despite his large and bulky size. Andron could've never been more thankful for those hunting expeditions he participated with his brother in Argosia II. Finally, it seemed that all those days and nights spent tracking down mega-beasts in those temperate forests began to pay off.

Along the way to the source of the Chaos signature, Andron activates his cloaking device as he passes through a wide street leading towards a Plaza. Despite his important task at hand, he can't help but stare at dozens of buildings a few of which are close to hitting what appears to be a glass dome with dozens of lines forming pentagons. Andron walks out of the cranny in between two buildings and sees the Plaza.

Filled with dozens of statues with bases etched with glowing descriptions written in Eldar script. Some depict fallen warriors and former Exarchs with their swords drawn and placed in a ceremonial stance while others were common folk in regal clothing. Perhaps they were nobles or government officials, their identity unknown to Andron.

Adjacent of the Plaza is a huge park with rows of trees and a field of auburn grass with strange flower-like plant life he has never seen before, all arranged in an assortment of varying colors and careful arrangement.

An artificial wind blows through the field of flowers and Xenos plant life bringing their foreign scents slipping through the small exhaust vents of his power armor, gifting a pleasant aroma to the man inside.

An Eldar family enjoys a picnic below a tree of emerald green leaves nearby. A male and female Eldar couple watch closely at their two children play with some sort of floating ball that constantly defies gravity as their parents both munch on wrapped food from a basket. It was at this sight that Andron finds himself fixated at, unable to resist the mundane and simple life this small Eldar family enjoys.

At an instant, he is reminded of home town at Argosia Primus and the desert oasis he once ran off to escape the stresses of ceaseless scientists muttering about new technologies and lost knowledge. It was quite a long time ago now, he remembered the girl he took with him and the time they shared under the gaze of stars; all but a fleeting dream now, as will be the smiles of this Xeno family.

At the end of it all, a dog-eat-dog galaxy will always pounce at the easiest prey. Unforgiving, harsh and brutal. The Terminator can't help but scoff at the Xenos for enjoying such vain leisures despite the realities of the galaxy they live in. He tries to hold it in deeply but a single tear escapes his right eye, something very uncharismatic for a _particular human_ like him. Distracted by the sudden flush of emotions and they sight before, the Terminator fails to notice the floating ball flying towards his direction when it collides and bounces off him.

An Eldar boy with golden-brown hair lifts an eyebrow as he approaches to fetch his toy, his red and blue garments fluttering in the wind. He can't help but notice how his ball bounced off in mid-air as if some _invisible wall_ were blocking its path of flight. He bends down to pick up his treasured sphere only to discover some strange distortion at one edge of the ball as if it were sinking. His fingers then touch a smooth, metallic surface that he can't help but rub constantly due to its texture.

A young girl approaches him with a curious look on her face as she stares at her brother with utmost wonder. She speaks with him in Eldar language asking why he is "brushing the air" to which he replies that something invisible is right in front of him.

To their amazement and utter horror, the two children are revealed to the sight of a large, blue metallic giant with an oversized fist as the cloaking field disperses. Unable to brave the being in front of them, the two younglings scream with the top of their alien lungs a cry for help to their parents who immediately spot the source of the commotion. They then began shouting at them, in Aeldari to get away from that creature.

Andron is then brought back to reality as he hears the ear-piercing screams of the two, puny Xeno children standing right in front of him. Exposed by the disruption of his cloaking field, dozens of Eldar began panicking in their native language incoherently as they began running for cover from the giant Mon'keigh. Not wishing to pointlessly harm civilians, Andron tosses a few smoke canisters and obscures himself from the approaching Eldar Guardians. He then resumes his pursuit of Ouroboros' retinue.

"D-dammit!… What was I zoning out for? Frak! Remember, you're on a mission behind enemy lines! The God-Emperor's servant must kill the Xeno and the Apostate without quarter!" said Andron as he scolded himself.

_But they make such grand places worthy of your attention. This area reminded you of the Hanging Gardens, doesn't it?_

"Now is not the time for nostalgia! I have a _Traitoris Diabolus_ to kill!"

_Admit it, you delight the sight of Xeno beauty! The worlds of Man never care for such detail neither do they wish to replicate the glories of the Golden Age! Even if they did, they'd rather choose to squander said paradises to the predation of Chaos. Is it not a breath of fresh air to experience a non-human world, away from incompetent governance and false convictions? _

"Speak not of such heresy! The Emperor abhors the Xeno and therefore they must be put to the torch! All of them, even their children. Even their children's children… No mercy and no regrets!"

Andron makes his way through a secluded nook in between a group of Xenos buildings, leaving behind him a commotion and the furious Eldar soldiers that are hot on his tail.

_And just how long do you wish to fool yourself with that so-called Creed? Had the Emperor himself remained with his subjects, the Imperium wouldn't have fallen to such stagnation refusing any form of advancement be it in governing laws and scientific advancement! No Great Rift! No pathetic __**INQUISITION**__! Trillions of innocents would've been saved had those so-called "High Lords" worried more about the Imperial realm than their evening supper!_

"_Be quiet."_

_Then there's you, a player so late in this game that you have yet to make any significant moves in a galaxy filled with armored turds. No, wait, you're very different. You're more "glorified" and higher than any Astartes, be they old or ancient! You just bear a different name nowadays but your kind once led-_

"_SHUT IT! DON'T YOU DARE LECTURE ME ANY FURTHER!" _

Andron then raises his fist (not power fist) and socks himself in the face. It does little damage, as expected of his durability but it does snap him back to his senses. He then sort-of losses his balance crashes into a wall, breaking it in the process. Andron then looks up and praises the God-Emperor that there wasn't anyone home.

As if things could not get any worse, Andron's radar begins beeping rapidly with more than a dozen or so Xenos life signs heading quickly towards his destination.

"Tch… Frak, this is going to be a problem. Judging from their speed the Xenos are either using Jetbikes or since there are so many women everywhere… Howling Banshees. *sighs* Looks like I'm going to have to do it."

Exarch Liandrel leaps over the large gap between one building to the next with acrobatic finesse. Followed by her are fifteen other Howling Banshees, all in their deep blue and red suits unique to their Aspect shrine. Their wraithbone armor shines with a marble-like pristine against the light of the nearby star, each edge almost as smooth as silk. They move in blindingly fast inhuman speeds that can match the fiercest predatorial creatures seen in many feral worlds across the galaxy. The Banshees' bodies are slender and are at the peak of physical finesse, their wraithbone armor sheltering the flexible yet taut fabric suits as they stride across many structures unrestrictedly.

The Howling Banshees are the embodiments of fear, being the frightening daughters of the Crone Goddess and the blood-soaked War God Kaela Mensha Khaine. Their special masks are a signature weapon unique only to them, unleashing a piercing cacophony of mind-shattering psychic screams that can disable nearly every foe they hunt. However, beneath their terrifying visages, each Banshee is a gorgeous looking woman on her own. The pearl smooth texture of their skin and near-lofty beauty untouched by flames of war. The same could be said of Exarch Liandrel, her sublime beauty garnering the attention of many males across Iybraesil.

A veteran of over a hundred battles, Liandrel has only recently begun to grow weary of service under the shadow of Khaine. For the longest time, her feelings towards the esteemed Exarch Nardual had only grown ever since she began longing for a life of serenity, away from the endless bloodshed any battlefield could offer. It was during one particular campaign against an Orkish WAAAAGH! near Imperial territory that she finally got a chance to bond closely with him. Oh, how she misses the comforting embrace he gave her when she lay across the floor grieving the loss of her former Exarch. This kiss that followed, later on, convinced her that he would be right for her love.

Now, he was forever beyond her reach. She could no longer caress the smooth strands of his pitch-black hair nor look at his enchantingly blue eyes or his well-sculpted features. His waystone now rests in the heart of a Wraith-lord construct and could only give her the comfort of his voice at certain times. Her love was gone, forever extinguished by the hands of the loathsome Mon'keigh.

"Ifayel!" says the Exarch with a strong tone.

"Yes, my Exarch?" says a Banshee as she approaches the pace of Liandrel.

"We'll be splitting into two groups, one shall search for the Mon'keigh in the alley and the other form a perimeter so that we can efficiently narrow down his location. Are there any questions?" said Liandrel.

"Should we meet the Mon'keigh, do we immediately engage him?" asked Ifayel.

"Do not engage it. He may be a what they call a 'Terminator', a heavily armored Space Marine with thick armor and portable force field. Once you are in sight of him, you are to contact me and together, we shall surround him and cover him with misery. Is that all?" replied Liandrel.

"Understood, that is all, most fierce one!" said Ifayel. She then takes command of eight other Banshees and breaks away from the Exarch's retinue.

"Mon'keigh, vicious Mon'keigh! You shall taste the fury of Morai-Heg for your transgressions against us! You and the rest of your foul brethren!" shouted the Exarch.

_Nardual… rest well my love, I shall be delivering the Mon'keigh's wretched head to you soon._

The Banshees search the areas and neighborhoods surrounding the Plaza yielding no results for over a few minutes. That was until one of the Banshees spoke to the Exarch in her voice Vox comm reporting to her that one of the civilians saw the giant head towards the alleys north of the central plaza.

Along the way, Exarch Liandrel noticed a house with a large hole on the side of a house. She and her Banshees then descended from the other buildings to investigate the damaged wall. Without a doubt, the hole could only have been caused by a large creature and its size perfectly. Using a special scanner Liandrel spots large, dusty footprints along the pavement leading towards a certain direction.

"Call the other group to come here immediately. My sisters…"

The lady Exarch then pulls out her the Executioner glaive from its sheath at her back.

"Let us begin the hunt!" shouts the Farseer

The other Banshees scream with a wrathful approval as each of their blades pointed skyward heralding the dawn of war.

Her enemies sought the destruction of her home and people. Such an act only demands the worst retributions and by every sworn oath, Liandrel will make them bleed an ocean of blood.

* * *

_It was at this very moment that the Craftworld's fate would henceforth be changed, its thread in the tapestry of destiny would be split into many all leading towards strange and unfamiliar futures._


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey y'all, it's been a while. I've been busy dealing with a lot of problems, quizzes, and unfortunate distractions lately. There have also been a few roadblocks with the story as well, I'd have to head out to a nearby mall just to get my inspiration machine working. A reader by the name of**_ Embers_** has also pointed out a few lore discrepancies within the story so I've also looked into that matter and dig deeper through some lore vids about Craftworlds, aspect shrines and the Eldar as a whole. I've also read a few of the popular Eldar fanfics on the site as well and I would recommend "The Long Journey". I also consulted and confirmed a few things with him about the points he made in his review about my very "humans with pointy ears" way of writing the Eldar.**

**So my decision with this is that I plan to remain as lore-wise to the GW canon as much as possible but only to the extent that it doesn't impede my artistic vision for the story. This implies that I will purposely stray away from some canonical aspects to suit literary elements. Expect to see entirely new or unexpected things within the entirety of this fan series.**

**With that said, I hope you'll enjoy the fruits of my hard work and dedication with this 3rd chapter. I hope I managed to place more emphasis on the Eldar's alien nature with this one!**

**As always, thanks for reading!**

**\- H.H.**

**Warning: Contains major heresy**

* * *

**Chapter 3: This Charming...Xeno?**

"The Mon'keigh is very close, my sisters! That vermin has foolishly chosen to traverse our home in his heavy armor! Surround him and cover him with Khaine's wrath!" shouted Liandrel, as she pointed her gold crusted war glaive forward.

"RUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" screamed all the other Howling Banshees as they followed their Exarch.

Liandrel follows Andron's footsteps to a smooth cave-like stairway leading downwards to a desolate street. Followed by her sisters, the Exarch then notices a shadow right before her on the wall of the stairway moving away slowly from her approach. She then prepares her glaive, ready to pounce on the foe waiting ahead.

Sensing that her would-be opponent would try to ambush them by cutting them down as they exit the stairwell, the Exarch decides to remain a step forward by dashing out to the street at full speed, scraping the ground in the process. Much to her surprise, no blade comes swinging down at her, since there wasn't anyone waiting to ambush her and the other banshees. Dumbfounded, the Exarch activates the scanning systems to detect any cloaking fields or masked energies nearby only spotting one reading from a figure walking at a distance.

The other banshees arrive at the scene and like their Exarch, they too are surprised to find no foe waiting for them.

"Exarch Liandrel, what has happened to the Mon'keigh? There's no way it could have outran us with his sluggish speed!" asked Ifayel.

"It must be Chaotic sorcery! The fiend conceals himself with the powers of the warp!" said another banshee.

For a moment the Exarch remains silent, pondering what course of action to take next. She then sees the lone Eldar in the distance, still walking at the same pace.

"Just follow me," said Liandrel. She then runs forward and approaches the person walking silently.

"Excuse me, do you have a moment?" said Liandrel as she approached the civilian with the other banshees following closely. The Eldar civilian seemingly ignores her question and resumes walking forward while mumbling incoherently.

"_I would go out tonight…"_ hummed the Eldar male.

"Halt! The Exarch is speaking to you, civilian!" shouted one of the banshees. The Exarch then places her gloved hand on the man's shoulder to get his attention.

The Eldar male then turns around and gets startled upon seeing the Exarch standing right behind him.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" shouts the civilian as he flailed his arms and fell to the ground, revealing him to be a youthful boy with the appearance equivalent to that of a seventeen-year-old teenager (in Eldar context and standards).

Right before him stands the Howling Banshee Exarch Liandrel, distinguishable from the rest because of the long silvery hair steeming out of her Banshee mask. Her armor bears the Craftworld's deep blue and ruby red colors like the rest behind her except for the gold edges and crusts adorning every edge of it. Lastly, the crimson sash around her waist bears the severed palm of Morai-heg, painted pitch black. Upon looking at the figure of authority above him, the young man can't help but give her back a sheepish grin.

Liandrel looks at the boy laying embarrassingly before her and shook her head. She is convinced that the men of Iybraesil have become too soft, having been groomed too much by their mothers rather than their fathers (if they ever had any, to begin with).

Despite his slight blunder, she can't help but notice the boy's striking features. He is without a doubt a cut above the rest of his peers in appearance, his hair although short, is neatly groomed and brushed at the center in both sides of the scalp and has a usual yellow-greenish color. His facial features are the epitome of youth, with rather fair skin and no wrinkles. His eyes are bright emerald green and his ears have this smooth appearance and shaped to the finest point of Eldar tastes, its as if he were some idealized statue. He also wears a red and gray robe typically worn by the common populace.

The Exarch, being some already a few centuries old (around her late 20s) saw only enough attraction towards the boy not much to stir any feelings within her, Nardual having just recently died and all. However, the same could not be said of the younger banshees who are either swooning or arguing amongst themselves over who gets to date him as if he were some celebrity. The boy then stands up and faces the fearsome Exarch with much confidence. He then puts a very stoic and stern face much to Liandrel's surprise.

"Hello and good afternoon to you, Exarch of the Howling Banshees, is there anything you need from me?" asked the young man. Some of the Banshees giggle by his sudden change of face.

"There is a dangerous Mon'keigh lose in the city and we have been sent to find it and kill it. Have you perhaps seen any strange activity around here?" said the Exarch.

"This Mon'keigh, would you know of his appearance? Is it a normal soldier or the _Losseainn (Space Marine)_'?" asked the young man.

"It is a Space Marine, young one." Replied Liandrel.

"I believe I heard some loud footsteps over in that direction of those buildings. For a moment I thought they were from a group of Wraithguard so I decided to ignore them."

"Thank you, young one. We shall now resume our hunt for the foul creature! But before I go I must ask, what _path_ do you seek to follow? Our Craftworld is always in need of more warriors…"

"_and men!" _said one Banshee. A lot of the other Banshees laugh at the comment. The young man scratches his head, slightly blushing.

The Exarch then slams the hilt her glaive on the ground gesturing for the rest to remain silent. The young man gets slightly startled by the call of discipline, a bead of sweat falling down his cheek as a result.

_Oh dear me, just what lies are you willing to spout to these Long-ears? Remember, they are more emotional and sensual than any human! Your efforts may be in vain if the Xeno discovers your actual identity. Choose wisely Andron, for your sake…_

There is a brief pause with the unnamed Eldar man, as he contemplated a response to the Exarch in front of him. His brows then rise upwards, a decision within his mind having been made.

"About that… I regret to tell you that I have chosen the path of the _Outcast_. You see Exarch, I have always had this thirst for the unknown; to leave everything I knew behind and embrace the void and face whatever adventure awaits me!"

Some of the Banshees gasp at the young man's bravado towards their Exarch while some giggle, even more, delighting at how cute they think he was while saying that bold statement in front of the Exarch.

"And just how are you going to face the dangers of the galaxy as an Outcast when you are so easily started by anything?" asked Liandrel

_Here's the turning point. She can sense your lack of your naïvete, you must feign it as much you can!_

"A-about that… Uhm... I'm n-" said Andron stuttering purposely.

"I've heard enough. Sisters, let us take our leave…" said the Exarch as she turned around towards the direction the young man pointed earlier.

As the Exarch went ahead, three hopelessly romantic Banshees approached him like flies swarming around discarded sweets.

"Hey I'm Liedra, what's your name?" said one

"You free tonight? Wanna drink with me?" said another

"You're not taken are you?" said one taller than the other two.

Andron couldn't help but feel awkward about this scenario, although this remained in his list of possibilities having three Xeno trying to press themselves on him is **HERETICUS MAXIMUS**!

"I said **WE** are leaving!" said the Exarch abruptly.

"Awww what a bummer"

"Hmph!"

"It's Liedra! Please visit me at the temple sometime!"

The three then hopped away with the rest of their party to chase their hated enemy.

"Whew! Dear Emperor, that went easier than my expectations, looks like they're not as sharp as they appear to be… Now, back to the task at hand!"

His customized power gauntlet materializes on his left arm and from it, a holo screen emerges scanning the locale if there are any Chaos signatures nearby. Although his blunder has disrupted his chase on Ouroboros, he knows that it would be a matter of time until the Heretic Astartes runs into an Eldar patrol.

His radar beeps continuously as it traces any shred of Chaos energy signatures anywhere momentarily.

"Pip… Pip… Pip… Pip… Pip…Pip… Pip" said the radar as its gauge loaded to 90%

"Fail me not my machine spirit! I this crafted body of yours myself, fulfill this task I'll give you a decent cleaning! Only you can spot Chaos!" hesitated Andron.

"Pip…Pip… BEEP! CHAOS SIGNATURE LOST! CALCULATING POSSIBLE PATHS…"

"It looks like the Hand of Doom have lived up to their heritage. Dammit, why did I get so… Never mind. There's only one place left to go. Machine spirit, locate the Infinity circuit"

"INSUFFICIENT DATA. PLEASE EXTRACT DESIRED INFORMATION FROM A DATA PORT."

"Locate nearest data port, machine spirit."

"NEAREST DATA PORT IS EXACTLY 300 METERS NORTHWEST OF YOUR CURRENT POSITION."

Andron hurriedly sprints towards the location marked at his holo-map. He jumps on the roof of a small house and hops off quickly. He dashes through a T-junction as the map 'pips' continuously. Distracted momentarily by the indicator of his map, Andron fails to notice a Xeno emerging from

Andron hurriedly sprints towards the location marked at his holo-map. He jumps on the roof of a small house and hops off quickly. He dashes through a T-junction as the map 'pips' continuously. Distracted momentarily by the indicator of his map, Andron fails to notice a Guardian emerging from the opposite side intersecting his.

In a surprising show of strength, Andron carelessly bumps into the Guardian with the blunt front of his shoulder. Although done with unexerted effort, the Guardian was sent flying off into a nearby wall, their face slamming flatly before immediately collapsing to the floor.

Andron decides to not pay them any heed and runs off into the distance.

A civilian heads to the disoriented Guardian and helps them up. The Guardian's helmet, although made of a durable substance, now has a small crack where a small spurt of blood drips through. The Guardian then slowly removes their helmet revealing long auburn hair stretching to their shoulders. To the left side of their face is a long clump of hair tied together by a green band, rests gently on her shoulder. Her temple bleeds lightly, the helmet had taken much of the impact. The woman seems fairly alright except for her right arm feeling slightly "loose".

Underneath the woman's left eye is an inverted arrow made with blue paint.

"Are you alright, Guardian?" asked the Civilian.

The woman slowly looks toward the civilian while wiping the blood of her left eye.

"Quite enough. Did you see what hit me?" asked the woman.

"Strangely enough, it was a young man. It seemed like he was carrying something and was quite in a hurry. He didn't even bother to see if you were alright, that nasty brat." replied the Civilian.

"Which way did he go?" asked the female Guardian.

"In that direction towards that elevated area. Wait, isn't that your-"

Before she could finish, the female Guardian then stands up and quickly sprints off to the direction in pursuit of the brash, young man.

Meanwhile, Andron, after running up some stone-carved stairs comes in the site of an above average-sized house near a cliff overlooking a breathtaking view of the Craftworld's central city. An ebony tree with a marble bench rests under the shade of its soft, brushing leaves. The house is slightly bigger than the most he's seen and is adorned by a small garden filled with an assortment of glowing flowers and shrubbery with tendril-like leaves that vaguely resembles the pict captures of the now-extinct Tyranid Hive Fleet Kraken.

Much to his surprise, the doors to this home open without any form of security barring him from entering. The home is neat and tidy with everything set in order, a minimalistic table that appears to be carved from stone is placed in the center of a spacious living room. A painting with detail akin to a pic capture depicting three Eldar close to each other hangs serenely on a wall.

Andron closely inspects the artwork, his eyes squinting at the youthful Eldar in sitting elegantly on her mother's lap, dressed in what would appear to be formal/ceremonial robes. He can't help but notice how dull and serious they look, as if all their emotions were sapped from their very souls. Indeed, humans and Eldar do share some similarities them being the more 'refined' species of the milky way galaxy but even that has its limits.

"It's no surprise we never get along with the long-ears… Wait, this Xeno right here, she seems familiar-"

_Focus on your task, Andron. Is it so necessary for me to remind someone like you?_

Andron shakes his head and proceeds to search for his desired object. He then finds it with little difficulty.

At the very edge of the home's living room, awaits an Eldar Data port Andron desperately seeks. With this, he could extract all the information he needs about this Craftworld, specifically the location of its Infinity Circuit.

The console is advanced even by Mechanicum standards, being psychically linked to the Craftworld's neural network through the strange crystals protruding from its body. Its technology a product of both science and immaterial sorcery the result of Eldar science dating back millions of years. Its worth would be entirely lost to the psychically blind or the idiotic zealots of the Ecclesiarchy. The fools that they are, purposely blind to the truth around them as they continuously hinder man's creativity and logic. It's no wonder the galaxy has fallen to such a pitiful state, with naive upstarts like the Tau furiously opposing Imperial authority now and then.

Fortunately for Andron, he has since understood the basic operations of Eldar warp-based tech after a thorough study of various tomes and books secretly stolen from the collections of different Craftworlds, most notably Biel-tan. How he accomplished such a feat is a story for another day.

Being a gamma grade psyker, he could use most Eldar technology with comfortable ease. The body of the Data port then hums with life, a group of runes etched in smooth stone-like pads levitates from the machine's surface glowing with empyric energy. Andron then reaches out towards them with palms as his eyelids seal themselves shut. For a few moments, he remains seated on the floor motionless with both of his arms stretched out towards the machine with his head lowered down.

Then all of a sudden, his head cocks up and his eyes burst out with luminous, incandescent energy akin to that of a yellow star. It was then that his customized Power Gauntlet then began booting up as it began processing the information it received through different data bursts coming from the Eldar device. The crystal glowed in a multitude of different colors, waning and waxing with each passing second as the floating runes shifted forms like sand constantly brushed away by a tide of water.

In a swirling mass of thoughts and words, Andron finds himself on the very heart of the Craftworld's neural network. Its appearance is akin to a vast stream of data flowing endlessly in a spiral with descriptions similar to that of the webway. However, unlike that strange realm, the network's central data nexus is very neat and organized in an almost user-friendly manner. Numerous branches of DNA-helix like data exceeding numerical count spread throughout every portion of the Craftworld to be sorted out and monitored by different administrators. Speaking of which, it would only be a matter of time before they realize that their network has an unwanted guest.

Using some form of a homing beacon sourced from his gauntlet, Andron quickly locates his primary objective amongst the sea infinitesimal of information. He picks up a glowing line of code containing the location of the Infinity Circuit. As if right on cure, an alarm erupts throughout the network exposing his presence to the Eldar administrators. Andron makes a quick exit back to his body before any of the Network's defense systems trap him within a digital cage.

Andron's consciousness returns to his body as the fiery hue emitting from his eyes fades off from existence. Andron then checks his gauntlet and much to his surprise, he discovers that the information he obtained is mostly corrupted and the information about the Infinity Circuit would probably lead to a dead-end or worse. He quickly contemplates a new course of action.

Unbeknownst to him, the data he stole is secretly a homing beacon purposely left there by the Autarch as bait for him to take. His respite is then cut short, his super-human senses detected a silent footstep land on the empty doorway behind him. His pointed ears shake slightly, detecting the calm motions of a figure creeping towards him.

In what sounds to be a metallic click of a weapon, Andron then rises with both arms and with superhuman speed quickly snatches the barrel of the shuriken pistol and forcibly aims it towards the ceiling. With his free hand, he then seizes the left arm of his assailant and using his immense strength, pins them towards a nearby wall. Andron's irises expand upon seeing the identity of the Eldar in front of him as they defiantly struggle against his enhanced strength to no avail.

With a whisper of his breath, Andron then says these exact words:

"_It's the young girl from the painting… That Xeno woman from the spaceport!"_

A smudge of dried blood on her forehead is all that remains from the wound he unintentionally caused. Her eyes align towards his and as he looked at them, he saw a spark of bravery unfitting her exotic beauty. She clenches her teeth, glares at him with much contempt, still trying to aim her pistol at face. With a tight squeeze on her right arm, Leothelia shrieks and drops the shuriken pistol as her arm begins to flare with pain.

With much desperation, she speaks a sentence in Aeldari.

"Stranger, for what reason have you chosen to break into my home and assault me like this?"

_Elsewhere, still Craftworld Iybraesil_

"Repeat after me, Xeno. I will bring these Soul stones inside the Irillyth compound and I will leave the front door WIDE OPEN" said Terminator Ouroboros

"I will bring the soul stones into the Irillyth compound and I will deactivate its primary defense system." said an Eldar civilian with both his eyelids held open by a device.

"Now that's a good, filthy Xeno. You must also remember to act as natural as possible you wouldn't want the others to find out about our plan now, would you?" said Ouroboros with much disdain.

"I would never, ever b-betraaaaay…. youuuuu!" said the brainwashed Eldar woman.

"It seems there is a slight error in your cortex machine, Heretek. We cannot afford to fail here because of such a blunder." said the Chaos Terminator.

"Now, now Captain Ouroboros…" said the Tech priest as his fingers flicked around his physically grafted computer console, his vox machine clicking with static. His mechandrite tendrils adjust different components on the machine attached to the unfortunate Eldar's spine.

"You must allow the daemon some time to work its way into possessing the Xenos completely. Normally this would've been finished swiftly had it not been for the Eldar's immense psychic capacity…"

Ouroboros frowns. "What? You told me the device would 'brainwash' these pointy-ears! Do not make me regret dragging you away from the Drukhari, Ivee Leeg!"

"Yes, my Captain! Brainwash them with the help of Empyric spirits! Rest assured, what better way to ensure their cooperation than this?"

"… And have you considered the possibility of accidentally summoning a Slaneeshi daemon? You do know the setbacks that creature would cause us?" said Ouroboros with much exasperation.

" I am well versed in the tastes of the Dark Prince, Captain. I guarantee that my device and the daemons within it shall work as intended to for I possess each of their true names within my memory banks! And besides, as a member of the Harvardian Malevolus faction, my reputation's in the line. Leave everything to me, Captain!"

"Hmph. I expect it to be done by the next solar day. Do not fail me, Heretek! I will not be as forgiving as my lord!" said Ouroboros as he walked away to speak with his men, loud metallic thuds shake the floor whilst doing so. The Heretek, out of some respect, gestures a bow as he left.

With his mechandrites clapping like a crustacean with its pincers, Ivee turns his attention towards the abused Eldar and three of her other subdued companions.

"Now, what shall we do with you three Xenos?" said Ivee as his artificial voice drips with a dreadful tone.

_Citadel of Wisdom, a few minutes earlier…_

The Citadel of Wisdom serves as both the office of the Craftworld's Seer council and the central command center of Iybraesil. Located in the Northernmost bio-dome, it's the most well-defended area of the Craftworld and has withstood numerous assaults from Orcish Waaaghs as well as attacks from Tyranid splint fleets. Within its tightly sealed vaults are relics and dangerous ancient weaponry from the time of the great fall as well as the central nexus of the Craftworld's neural network.

The command center located in the left-wing of the citadel is a perfect blend of both science and warp sorcery, as Seers and Neural Administrators (Data Seers for short) harmoniously work together in the same area. They're both a silent bunch, as they work tirelessly on the respective runes and screens.

In front of a holographic screen, a Data Seer sorts through different lines of data while monitoring different live feeds from multiple areas across the Craftworld. Then all of a sudden, an alarm flares at his screen. Upon discovering the source of the problem, he immediately calls out to the Autarch standing nearby.

"Autarch! The Mon'keigh has stolen information about our the locations of our Craftworld! What shall we do?"

Galandrin, ever-present and equipped with her full panoply of war, quickly move towards the Data Seer.

"Have you obtained his location?" said Galandrin as she looked at the large holo-screen.

The Data Seer makes a sweeping gesture and a map pops up and shows her Andron's exact location in the Craftworld.

"It's currently at the edge of the Side Quarters in the Velanth district. Shall we send our troops to take it out?"

"No. Just monitor it closely. If the reports were accurate, this Mon'keigh may be the one from the Farseer's vision. I would like to see where it would be going."

"But don't the tainted Mon'keigh just want to desecrate our Infinity Circuit?"

Galandrin looks at the man with a steely gaze. He shivers at her presence, bothered by the fact that a woman is capable of giving off such a strong aura.

She gently places her right hand on his shoulder, immediately relieving his tension.

"Not quite. This Mon'keigh is certainly an interesting one. It's not like the rest of its brethren, it didn't bother to conceal its psychic presence. Everything is going according to plan."

"Huh…" said the Data Seer anxiously.

The Autarch then walks towards a guardian with a plume on her helmet. "Tighten the security in the area surrounding the entrance to the Infinity Circuit with Wraithguard and ten Banshee squadrons, we don't want to be exposing ourselves too much, Adjutant"

The Adjutant nods and then salutes Galandrin before leaving the room.

"Will we be letting that vermin run loose in our Craftworld, Autarch?" says one Seer seated on a mat.

The Autarch observes the tense atmosphere forming around the room with many being unconvinced and dubious towards the unusual plan she has formulated.

Galandrin clears her throat and with a loud, sonorous voice she announces speaks to them all.

"I reassure all of you, there is little to worry. The Farseer's vision has told us the existence of a traitor amongst our kin who will align themselves to that vicious Mon'keigh. We shall strike them both once the time is ripe!"

The staff at the command gasp with the reasoning behind the attack on their home and immediately resume their duties.

Deep in thought, the bold Autarch crosses arms together and utters something to herself with righteous fury burning in her eyes.

"Iybraesil shall rise triumphant in this battle! In the meantime, wash your neck traitor… After all of this, I shall be claiming your head."

_Leothelia's home, Side Quarters_

Despite having both her arms pinned against the wall by this man's incredible strength, Leothelia still refuses to cease her struggle. A realization dawns upon Andron as he realizes he could use her to serve a certain end. He then releases his grip on her and backs away slowly.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean you any harm…"

Leothelia picks up the discarded pistol and points it towards him once more. She senses the lack of sincerity from the man in front of her who appears to show little concern towards the danger she poses to him.

"You still have not answered my question. What are you doing in my home?"

Andron pauses for a moment as quickly thinks of a response. He then moves towards her side, both his hands raised to the air as her pistol follows his movement.

" I apologize for the harm I caused you earlier. I was in a hurry to obtain certain information about a certain place."

She looks at his palms. They are rough, with all his five fingers filled with callouses. The sign of a seasoned warrior. She finds herself growing wary of this man's intentions.

"And what place would that be?

"I'm here to find the location of the _Irillyth_ _compound_. I hear it has something to do with this Craftworld's Infinity Circuit."

"And why would you need to go there? That place is only reserved for the Seers and its caretakers. Are you perhaps a Drukhari spy?"

"No, not at all… I'm just an Outcast who got wind of a plan by the Alpha Legion to infiltrate your Craftworld. What exactly they plan to do still eludes me to this very moment but whatever it may be, it would spell the destruction of Iybraesil itself. I tried to warn your Council about their plans but they refused to give me an audience and then all of this... happened."

"And why would you bother to help us? It appears you have no ties to our Craftworld whatsoever."

"Must I abandon my species to the predations of Warp and the Imperium's folly? If our species were to reunite into what we once were, we really ought to help each other out, don't you think?

She looks straight into the man's eyes. It is said that the eyes are the windows to the soul and that if you were to gaze at another's eyes and see your reflection inverted, then that person is one who would invite terrible danger. Much to her surprise, she sees no such thing from his.

Leothelia finds herself enchanted by his pale-green irises and the smooth features of his face. Having lost both of her only male friends (one of which she had feelings for) the other day, Leothelia internally grieves them both. Ever since her childhood, Leothelia been conditioned to suppress the majority of her emotions and feelings to prevent the attention of she-who-thirsts. Unable to find comfort with anyone else, she threw herself into her duties to avenge her murdered friends and kin. Leothelia's aim towards Andron wavers slightly…

"_Maybe_ _this man can comfort me somehow… Perhaps help me find the Mon'keigh that slew Cydran."_ Though Leothelia.

Andron senses her thought as they manifested in her mind. An opportunity dawns on him as he smiles slightly. He then stretches out his left hand past her gun, his calloused palm laying bare before her chest. She comes back to her senses and aims the pistol right at his face.

"Please, I have no plans in deceiving you. I wish to stop the Alpha Legion's plans and I require your assistance to see this through. You wouldn't mind helping a guy out now, would you?" said Andron confidently.

_Hey, you're not planning on seducing this Xeno, are you? I guess you could say love blossoms everywhere, even in degeneracy. Keep your distance, won't you?_

"Even if I wanted to help you… How can I expect to trust a total outsider like you?"

Andron then retracts his arm and then works on the upper portion of his clothing. Leothelia lifts an eyebrow as Andron begins undoing his upper garment. Her cheeks then start to become bright red in hue as her eyes widen at his sudden display.

Leothelia's cheeks then start to get rosy red at his sudden display.

"W-wait... What on Isha's name are you doing?!

"Just wait a bit…I plan on giving you something." Said Andron rather nonchalantly as he removes his upper garment, exposing his rather healthy and robust physique.

"You plan on giving me your XXX, aren't you? I knew it! You're a Drukhari spy! Y-you plan on doing debauched things with me before you reveal your true intentions!" said Leohtelia as her hormones began circulating through her head. Her cheeks begin blushing with a deep red hue as wild and lewd thoughts began manifesting within her mind. Perhaps her feelings for Cydran ran deeper and bolder than she knew.

"_Tch, this damn Xeno-woman. It's no surprise their Empire collapsed after murder-fucking that whore-god into existence. She's acting like a horny teenager despite being at that age… How old is she anyway?"_ thought Andron.

_Heh. Great job getting this woman wet, Andron. You might just be the progenitor of a new Human-Eldar hybrid if you continue keeping this up._

"_Shut the frack up, you!"_

At the center of his neck rests a beige necklace with a violet jewel at its center. It is oval and resonates with a deep, humming energy. A slight crack can be seen on its edge, a memento from a distant time when it hung from the neck of another. Andron was hesitant at first on giving one of his most valuable and intimate possessions to someone else, much less a Xeno. But seeing no other way to earn the Eldar's trust, he decides to hand it over to her.

Anyway, it's the Eldars brash nature to be swayed into action by emotional appeal. With a simple cover story, it wouldn't be difficult to manipulate her to serve an end.

"My word wouldn't mean much to you now so, I'll give this to you. This is one of the most valuable possessions that I own. It once belonged to -"

Andron never finishes his sentence. Leothelia takes note of this brief pause as he then resumes his speech.

"If I ever decide to betray you in any way, feel free to do what you want with it. Even destroy it, perhaps… I hope this would be enough to earn your trust for now. Do we have a deal?"

At the end of that last phrase, Leothelia has temporarily forgotten the transgressions this stranger has done to her previously. She looks at his eyes once more, they seem to be more enchanting than how she saw them a few moments before. However, she notices that his pupils are not aimed towards her or the pistol pointed right at him. Instead, his attention lays directly at the necklace he plans to hand over to her, betraying a sense of melancholia to her. She then lowers her pistol away from him.

"… Very well. If what you say is the cause of all of this, then I won't hesitate to help you. I shall accept your "gift" for now…You've never given me your name."

"My name is _Andra'al_. And yours would be?"

"Leothelia"

"Alright Leothelia, I would like to tell you more about myself but time is of the essence and we must leave immediately."

Andron then departs the house with Leothelia following right behind him.

Leothelia inspects the chained necklace once more, and can't help but adore the embellished studded diamonds surrounding the soulful, purple gem. She doesn't understand why she feels captivated by this strange-looking accessory of foreign origin as if she has some deep attachment to it. Perhaps it's because of Andron's guile or its resemblance to a spirit stone is what caught her attention.

Without any hesitation, she puts the necklace around her neck, much to Andron's concealed dismay.

"_I've always loved purple. I wish it was Iybraesil's sacred color instead of this icky blue…"_

Andron waivers slightly as hears this from her thoughts, his eyes blinking twice.

_She likes purple too… I didn't think humans are capable of reincar-_

"I'm not too familiar with Iybraesil's layout and I would greatly appreciate you being my guide. By any chance, would you know of a place called the _Irillyth compound? _From what I've heard, that place is connected to the Infinity Circuit somehow."

"That's a restricted area! Only the Seer Council is allowed to enter that place without any further notice."

"Let me be the one to worry about that. My question is, do you know where it is and how to get there quickly?"

"Y-yes, I do. It's quite far from here though. It's in the Northern-most dome, and it would take us nearly two hours to reach there with the reach through transport… Perhaps I could borrow a few jet-bikes…"

Andron pauses for a moment, his fingers gently stroking his chin as he ponders what action to take next. Ever since he snuck aboard the Exarch's flagship while it was docked the Crone world Myllien-Sur, several theories have been postulated by his transhuman intellect as to the true motives of the Hand of Doom choosing to infiltrate the Craftworld.

"_Why let the Warhost live? Barazan, destroying them would be less costly and whittle down their already meager numbers. You even let them have their precious… spirit stones! That's it! As for reaching the compound… Well, there's always __**THAT**__ option."_

Lothelia is dumfounded by Andron "pumping" his arms up and down whilst talking to himself, unaware of his eureka moment. She wonders if she made the correct choice of helping this eccentric and shady, but charming man.

He then looks at her with a pleasant and confident smile on his face. He then stretches out his palm to her once more.

"Leothelia, the foe we're gonna face is amongst the deadliest and most cunning the galaxy can offer. However, if we do not defeat them, today may very well be the last day of Iybraesil's history. Are you willing to fight to the bitter end with me?"

Leothelia's makes a deep gulp. She has only been in the path of the Warrior for a two (Eldar) years or so and hasn't had too much experience in battle. Although she has proven herself quite the marksman with both pistol and rifle, her melee prowess is… somewhat lacking.

But realizing the importance of the action they're about to undertake, she steels her resolve and clasps his hand with passionate strength that surprised even Andron.

"Now then, let's take a detour. MY detour. Oh, please close your eyes for a bit."

As she shuts both her eyes, Andron then makes a snapping sound with his finger. Suddenly, a bright flash of light paired with a sound of crackling energy manifests right behind him. Lothelia then raises both her palms to shield herself from the strange light.

She then gently opens her eyes to see… the source of it all right before her as her jaw drops to her bewildered amazement.

"By the gods…" she says, nearly speechless of what is right before her.

* * *

Illowyn the Data Seer looks through multiple feeds on her console, each from surveillance cameras hidden throughout the Craftworld.

After reviewing some rather private vid-feed, she comes across a feed with the Mon'keigh that the Autarch is desperately searching for. She finds it both ironic and insulting that the _Losseainn _(Space Marines) had chosen to attack her home whilst wearing their sacred color of blue. The red bloodstains on his armor further solidifying her assessment of her foe.

If wishful thinking could become reality, she would've painted the Mon'keigh's Terminator armor pink and torn it into a million shreds right after doing so.

"By Asuryan, I'd wish that shade of color never existed. Just like how the Imperium should never-"

Suddenly, a beeper rings on her holo-screen. She checks and an expression of astonishment forms on her features.

"Autarch Galandrin! Autarch Galandrin!" she calls.

Galandrin approaches Illowyn with much haste.

"What is it? Has the Mon'keigh decided to make his move?

"No, the impossible has happened! The Mon'keigh has-"

"Has what?"

"… Has completely vanished!"

"Impossible. The Psy-fields should be preventing him from teleporting or using any form of sorcery. I find it preposterous to believe he discovered the hidden beacon we placed."

"That doesn't seem to be the case, Autarch. We've detected a faint trace of Warp energy in his last known position. He may have used a Warp device of some sort, the nature of which is unknown to me. Imperial Technology has only but regressed in the past millennia so I doubt it is of Mon'keigh origin."

Galandrin grunts with frustration, her teeth clenching with controlled pressure. None of this makes any bit of sense to her, the failed assault on the spaceport that claimed the lives of Exarch Nardual and his crew to the elusive nature of this Turncoat Space Marine. For the first time since the Tyranid Invasion a few centuries ago, the Autarch has never been more confoundedly frustrated and equally annoyed.


	4. Chapter 4: The Call to War

**Merry Christmas, y'all! My classes have since concluded and so has my 1st year writing stories for this website and it has both been a time consuming and tiring endeavor but I hope you've enjoyed the tale of Andron and Leothelia so far! By the time you are reading this, I have already completed the outline for the fifth chapter and expect it to come around by New year's day! I gotta say, its been one hell of a decade and its sad to kiss it goodbye! Well, it is my second one after all... So anyway, consider chapter 4 and 5 my Christmas gift to you all. I hope I've met your expectations with this one, I've done a lot of research concerning the Eldar ever since the third chapter such as reading Gav Thorpe's _Path of the Warrior_****. **

Note: I've also changed and tweaked certain important details such as Chapter 2 and made "Loethelia" into "Leothelia" instead. I'm still developing the story as new ideas come to me every day. Please bear with me on this one.

**With that said, please enjoy the next chapter in your adventure in the 42nd millennium! Happy Sanguinala and may the Emprah bless you a happy new year!**

* * *

Amidst the ever-shifting tides of the Empyrean, a single battle barge with the colors of purple and metallic blue emerge safely into realspace the volatile energies of an immense Warp-storm weathered away by an unseen force. The seemingly inconspicuous vessel, the _Aspect of Oblivion_ makes its way towards the deeper recesses of the Eye of Terror. Unlike most Daemon ships, the _Aspect of Oblivion_ physically remains free of any form of Chaotic taint and imagery, a characteristic that can easily be shifted by the vessel's crew to remain undetected by most Imperial warships. In the main deck of the ship, sits the Hand of Doom's Chaos Lord, Barazan Nartos dressed in master-crafted Artificer Armor adorned with the heraldry of his warband.

His helmet has been melded straight to his flesh due to his constant exposure and worship of the ruinous powers. The serpentine horns atop his head wriggle and writhe as they hiss with like serpents reminiscent of the mythological Hydra in which the fragmented legion's iconography was based on. The Battle barge travels transit past the lashing currents of the expanded Eye of Terror unhindered and without any delay. In but a few Solar hours, the vessel arrives insight of a Daemon planet, its skies polluted with suffocating smoke and its landmasses deprived of any drop of water. Vast continents of velvet sand litter the world's surface as the light of a tainted star bathes its entire surface.

Barazan rises from his command throne, his dark-eyed staff clicking the floor as his the sound of his greaves echo throughout the quiet deck. Beside him stand two officers, both ancient veterans from the days of the Horus Heresy, stand quietly as their liege walks past them without so much of a word. Barazan walks towards a central platform marked with esoteric symbols that would drive any untrained mind insane with but a mere glance. The mortal pilots of the vessels, all enthralled mortal cultists, have their very bodies and minds fused with the ships' console. Their very flesh stretched and extended to horrifying proportions that could only rival the grotesque pain machinery of the sadistic Dark Eldar. Each pilot has almost the entirety of their face flayed and peeled like a banana with their jaws lengthened to excruciatingly painful degrees. They betray no hint of pain or plight of their suffering as every inch of the ship has now become apart fo their body.

As they approached the velvet Daemon world, they find numerous metallic rings of "debris" as they approach closer to the planet's space. A loud siren erupts as the ships' sensors-detect a sudden surge of chaotic energy amongst the rings. In what could only be a feat of Chaotic sorcery and lofty engineering accomplished only by the world's inhabitants, the rings swiftly build countless turrets in a meter of a few seconds and begin firing silos of empyric missiles at the _Aspect of Oblivion._ The ship's crew makes not a sound of panic despite the impending destruction headed towards them, for this would not be the first time they have visited the corrupter world uninvited.

"Tsav Rierrab". Said Barazan as he scattered both of his arms in the air, muttering the words to a powerful spell needed to shield the vessel from any form of attack. The empyric torpedoes explode in groves, the torrent of explosions leaving the vessel untouched by the explosions. The missiles explode in a chain of explosions to the extent that they begin damaging the iron rings that launched them.

"Full-speed ahead. Do not stop until we reach the airspace of Honsou's domain!" commanded the Chaos Lord.

The _Aspect of Oblivion _engages its thrusters as it shoots past the defenses of the iron rings like a speeding bullet, the barrier disintegrates any oncoming projectiles aimed towards them. Bypassing the speed of sound, the Barge enters the world's atmosphere like a great ball of fire only to halt as it fully escaped the range of the world's defense systems. Upon reaching the planet's surface, the crew is greeted by vast mountain ranges of steel towers and miles upon miles of barriers, blockades, and thick iron walls. Vast factories expelling bleching smoke and toxic fluids can be seen throughout the landscape as countless human slaves are worked to death by their malevolent Iron taskmasters while waves upon waves of Chaos Space Marines siege the walls of their dread fortress.

Medrengard, the homeworld of the Iron Warriors traitor legion is both a perpetual hell and a jail/fortress to all of the inhabitants that dwell within its wretched wastes. The _Aspect of Oblivion _heads towards a huge fortress called "Angband". Unlike the previous fortresses across the world, Angband is this size of a metropolis and second only to the fortress of the Daemon Primarch Perturabo himself. It is no different like the rest of other insufferable fortresses across the world: rusty, brutal and filled with countless human fodder tossed to the grinder. It can hardly be differentiated with most Hive cities albeit more an inhospitable hell rather than a place where many can live and grow. Only noticeable from an aerial view are numerous geothermal power plans with holes that run deep into the planet's very core with frequent bursts of

At the very gates of Angband is yet another faction of Iron Warriors laying a tireless siege against the very gates of the fortress with all sorts of chaotic weaponry only wrought by the great forge masters of the Legion. Barazan's brows sink downwards, forming a small frown of annoyance upon seeing the nuisance that is this fledgling faction in the plans for his visit upon this pathetic excuse for a homeworld.

"Hmm… It seems like I didn't bring any formal gifts along with me. Well then, let's just go ahead and give our Iron cousins fare greetings with a few of our big ones!"

The Battle barge then makes its descent towards the surface and unleashes a hail of bombardment upon the bloodthirsty Astartes below. The resulting explosions cripple rows upon rows of the invaders enough for the defenders atop the walls to begin their counter-attack that would see the invaders expelled by the following day. Content with his "gift" the Chaos Lord ceases the bombardment and orders the pilots to head towards Honsou's headquarters.

Klaxons erupt altering the crew of an incoming transmission originating from the surface.

"My lord, we are being hailed by the forces below. Shall we answer?" said one of the pilots with a pleasantly smooth voice uncanny for the excruciatingly painful state they're in.

"Put them through"

"My salutations, interlopers! You currently fly in the restricted airspace of the esteemed Warsmith Honsou. State your business and affiliation lest we blot your pathetic vessel from the sky!"

A half-bald iron warrior with multiple cybernetic implants appears to address Barazan. Half of his head has been grafted with a metallic plate and boasts an extendable cybernetic eye.

"My greetings, Malarian! I have come seeking the assistance of a valuable and trusted ally, in the name of the Dark Gods!"

"Ah, well if it isn't the constantly scheming child of the Hydra! It's been a while since you've given us a visit, Nartos!"

"Please inform your lord of my arrival, I wish to speak with him on a matter of dire importance and much haste."

"You arrive without further notice or invitation, however, the Warsmith would be most pleased with your actions against those foolish rats! Very well, I shall inform him of your arrival!"

"Excellent!" said the Chaos Lord as he twiddled his gloved fingers.

The infamous Warsmith Honsou sits upon a throne of stainless steel throne resembling a throne mechanicum akin to those seen in Imperial Knights. Directly behind are five helmets belonging to Loyalist Astartes hailing from Imperial Fists successor chapters such as the Black Templars. At his side rests his fearsome dark Battle Axe, _Armaros, _an ancient weapon that hosts a Daemon Prince of Chaos undivided. It mutters silent words to only which its wielder can hear informing Honsou about his unexpected "guest".

Barazan enters the vast hall filled with the numerous, rusted chains hanging in the ceiling as the clamoring of heavy machinery and shrill voices of misery fill in the background. The hall is decorated with various treasures obtained through many expeditions and battles undertaken in the past centuries. The pauldrons of vanquished Loyalist Astartes Chapters, Tyranid skulls, ancient Eldar relics, and Orcish fangs are amongst the many war-trophies are hung proudly beneath the many standards of the fallen legion. Many Chaos Space Marines stand in the side chatting amongst themselves in a corrupted dialect of low Gothic. Some shoot Barazan some harsh looks and stares upon hearing sweeping rumors about his past involvement with the Warsmith. Amongst the Heretic Astartes, a noticeable few make faces showing their utter disgust and repulsion of the Sorcerer's living Gorgon-like hair.

Whether Barazan took any offense upon some of the Iron Warriors' scornful attitudes is uncertain and could not at all be read from his calm and calculating demeanor. Flanked on both sides of the Sorcerer Lord are his two most entrusted officers, Caligula and Elagabalus. The two veterans are dressed in ancient Mark-IV Maximus pattern armor in the heraldry of the parent legion along with the sinisterly deep purple colors of their new patron.

"It has been a while, Barazan. I must thank you for the assistance you gave us with dealing with those fools. Now, what business does the master of the Hand of Doom wish to speak with me?"

"I have come seeking aid… No, assistance in a certain undertaking. The galaxy knows only the Iron Warriors have the martial and technical prowess to render even the most durable barrier into a pile of scrap. I come to you, Warsmith, asking you a boon in return for a favor I have done you before."

Honsou's lieutenants then begin speaking coherently amongst themselves. Some wonder and speculate what "favor" the Sorceror might be speaking of. Others watch the proceedings silently with careful glares aimed at their Alpha Legion cousins.

"Hmm… You speak of the scouring of the Cardinal system of Cologne. That was quite some time ago now, would you mind reminding me of the favor you gave me during that campaign?"

Barazan remains silent for a brief moment. He then taps his Sorcerer's staff upon the rugged floor lightly three times.

"No matter, let me remind you. It was around a hundred fifty years ago, the False Imperium was ripe for the picking and amongst the targets of your campaign to bring it to its very knees, starting with one of its most heavily defended Shrine worlds."

The Warsmith lifts an eyebrow as he recalls the death and untold destruction he laid upon the sector's now ruined planets. He also remembers how difficult it initially was to invade the system due to a large bulk of Imperial fleets being stationed there for a so-called "pilgrimage".

" Remember how a large bulk of Imperial navy warships had been stationed in Cardinal system? Cologne was practically unassailable without incredible effort and luck on your part. But, with the sudden arrival of an Orkish incursion just outside the sector, that large fleet made its merry way to deal with those Xenos. It was then, a hundred of my well-hidden cults emerged from the shadows, targeted specific planetary defenses allowing your fleets to easily assail and decimate the system with little casualties on your part."

The Warsmith nodded as he recalled the quick purge of all the Loyalist elements, Sanctified Shrined as well as the millions of mortal slaves they returned with from the expedition. Many of them now work in his factories building and crafting weapons of war to be used in the glory of the dark gods.

"Ah yes, that glorious campaign. Even our reclusive daemon Primarch went so far as to congratulate me for that success. I must thank you once more for that, cousins. Now, what boon do you wish me to give you, Barazan?"

The Chaos Lord of Doom taps his chuckles with utmost excitement and a wide, terrific smile spreads across his face as he taps his pointed staff on the ground once. Honsou does not comment on this eccentric behavior, having been used to similar ones with Emperor's children's warbands. Although he has found those filled with the taint of the Dark Prince troublesome to deal with, he stoically presses onwards to fulfill any goal or opportunity.

Barazan looks directly at the Warsmith with eyes filled with pink and purple hues caused by constant exposure to the energies of the Warp. It is quite surprising to note that Barazan has kept some of the sanity intact after all this vast amount of time.

A lengthy tongue emerges from his mouth, much to the repulsion of the other Heretic Astartes present within the hall.

" I ask that you send me your best companies and fleets specialized in sieging the toughest and well-defended fortresses. The target of my desire now shall be the Eldar Craftworld of Iybraesil located in the Segmentum Pacificus! With your companies ripping their defenses apart, my battle-brothers and I shall be taking the helpless citizens within for the glory of the Dark Prince. Would that be alright with you, dear Honsou?"

The Warsmith rises from his throne, the dark battle ax held by his side as he walks towards the Slaneesh worshipping Sorcerer.

"You seek to be ascended to Daemonhood, aren't you Barazan?"

"Of course. It is within my deepest desires to satisfy the joy and pleasures of my dark masters. I hope this wouldn't be a problem for you, seeing as you venerate Chaos as a whole?"

"Hmph. We sons of Iron have yet to lay siege upon the homes of those conceited Knife-eared Xenos and I am most curious as to the effectiveness of our siege weaponry against their defenses. Very well, I shall send you my Iron Fury fleet and elite companies to assist you in the eradication of this loathsome planetoid." Replied Honsou with a stoic demeanor.

"My deepest thanks to you, Warsmith Honsou! This boon you give me shall not go to waste! With this, the Eldar of Iybraesil will truly know suffering and abject misery! Hahaha hahaha" Said Barazan as he respectfully bows in front of the Warsmith.

* * *

Leothelia finds herself in a vast arcade of smooth arches and tall marble-like pillars engraved with patterns and swirls that are strangely familiar to her. A crackle of energy in a shade of many colors flows throughout the entire ceiling in streaks of lighting spreading all over the area in multiple directions. Leothelia is speechless upon this amazing sight, trying to comprehend everything surrounding her.

"J-Just what is this place?" Asked the baffled Eldar.

"Welcome to the Machine, Leothelia." Replied Andron as he stopped right beside her.

"I have many questions to ask of you, Andra'al… h-how is any of this possible? Could this place be the palace of gods themselves?"

"What is this place? Well, it's a form of transport, a ship of sorts that appears larger in the inside than the out. It allows me to travel vast distances in a quicker period compared to most vessels. Concerning its builders, I have little clues as to who built it. Perhaps it was built by a master engineer of the Old Empire?"

Leothelia walks towards a nearby pillar and gently places her gloved palm on its surface. She gently closes her eyes as she inhales a breath of air, the pillar reacting towards her thoughts. Andron watches at the Eldar closely, his widening as sparkles of energy begin manifesting on the pillar's body.

"Eh? What are you doing? You can appreciate that thing later, we have your Craftworld to save!" Leothelia makes no response to him.

He then places his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to catch her attention. It was then that a sudden surge of psychic energy erupts from her, entering straight to his arm preventing him from releasing his hold on her. Andron struggles desperately as raises his gauntlet to knock the girl out only to suddenly have his entire vision go white. Leothelia and Andron both simultaneously collapse on the floor, their fingers and heads twitching slightly.

*A young Eldar girl takes a bath, her father a man with a beige-colored bionic arm made of wraithbone washes her red hair while singing her a pleasant tune*

*Her mother, a long scar spread across her face, smiles at them briefly while she throws a glance at a damaged Howling Banshee helmet placed aside.*

*A squad of Howling Banshee screams their mind-shattering noise amplified by their masks as an Eldar city burns*

*A boy weeps as he digs through piles of rubble with bleeding hands. Sorrow eating through the very essence of his heart as he shouts through an empty voice, for no one remains to hear any of his pleas. Amongst the rubble emerges a lifeless palm covered with both grime and muck.*

*A robed figure, holding a human child hostage refuses to let the boy go. It demands no ransom other than the safety of its own life. A young man severs his wrist and throws it at the robed figure, a sign of pacifism and dire urgency.*

Andron awakens, hyperventilating as he places his palm across his face wiping off the sweat that isn't there. He looks at Leothelia, still laying on the floor unconscious. She breathes normally but makes no response as he shakes her to awaken from her slumber. He touches the side of her neck for some pulse and is satisfied to feel a calm beat.

Andron lifts her unconscious form and carries her off to a room with a satin mattress and places her on the bed. He looks at her once more, a sight of sweet serenity, with a compassionate look as he recalls some of his memories and hers before leaving the room as he gently closes the sliding door.

"That was something new… _Machine_, it seems you are deliberately hiding something from me… I thought I had you mostly figured out, but it seems you're full of surprises. Perhaps I ought to rename you with a better name." said Andron as he pinches a wall, teasing a reaction from its organic-like material.

Andron then walks into a hallway with many doors and a pair of stairways flanked at both sides that lead to an upper area. He then reaches a pair of two majestic doors that lead to the ship's most important room, the command chamber.

The two large doors automatically phase-out upon his arrival, leading to the ship's central control chamber filled with vox-tech, control panels, and strange tube-like devices that divert energy and signals throughout the vessel. Andron steps onto a platform located at the very center of the chamber different panels and holo-screens manifest upon contact. With a few gestures and sweeps upon an interface, the other holo-screen merge into a single screen. Three circles appear on the black screen jumping up and down as Andron patiently waits for the recipient of the person he is calling.

A brief click can be heard as the screen crunches with the sound of static. It was then a Space Marine with an ornate helmet, sand-gold cape covering the visible portions of his pale-red armor.

"Greetings, my Lord, how is the mission faring... W-Why are you in the form of those loathsome Xenos?!" Said the Space Marine Captain with utmost shock.

"Now, now Cpt. Tertullian, you should be used to this already! I get the point of the whole "_the divine and perfect form of humanity"_ agenda but tell that to Callidus Temple and they'd gladly change into a _Genestealer_ to rip your head off! How else do you expect me to infiltrate that living fortress without being one of them?"

There is a brief pause from Tertullian as he shook his head slightly.

"My sincerest apologies! You may continue, my Lord!"

" My investigation of Craftworld Iybraesil has been fruitful so far and it seems my suspicions have been completely confirmed. The Hand of Doom, an off-shot warband of the Alpha Legion, indeed plans to see the destruction of this Craftworld and its inhabitants!"

"Their leader, the sorcerer Barazan Nartos…" Andron continues.

"Seeks to sacrifice its Infinity Circuit by giving them compromised Spirit stones that will feed the Eldar souls to the dark prince."

"That is indeed a dreadful undertaking by those Heretics. But that is the Xenos' concern and not ours! Why must we, the faithful servants of the Emperor and his Imperium, interfere with their problems?"

"Because we share a common enemy that is Chaos, Captain Tertullian! My theory is that Barazan wishes to ascend to the rank of a Daemon Prince by fulfilling this deed! If we don't "

"... Then, if that is the case, shouldn't we just contact the Grey Knights to deal with this situation?"

"No that would only further complicate things due to their over-zealous and secretive nature. We shall assist them ourselves under our discretion!"

Cpt. Tertullian looks around to see if anyone nearby is spying at their conversation. Thankfully, not a soul is present to hear this exchange.

"How do you wish to deal with both the Heretics and the Xenos, my lord?" Said Tertullian plainly and nervous at the thought of being excommunicated as a traitor.

"First, we shall keep all of this under wraps. We don't want those annoying Inquisitors screwing with any of our plans…" Said Andron with a tone of abject irritation.

"Next, I shall send you the layout of the Craftworld that I obtained from their central matrix." Andron presses a button on his gauntlet and in but a few seconds, the data is streamed to the first captain.

"I shall recap to you the events. The Hand of Doom infiltrated an Iybraesil warhost while they were in an expedition in a world in the Eye of Terror. Unbeknownst to their ground forces below, the Heretics boarded many of their ships and slew most of the crew within them, keeping only a few alive to lead them back to the Craftworld. It was by chance that I intercepted one of the Warband's vox comms and got wind of their plans. I slew one of their squads and managed to board the Eldar's main flagship without any detection."

"At the Craftworld, the Hand of Doom wished to separate into multiple groups to weaken the Craftworld's defenses and gain access to the Infinity Circuit. However, I used our special Exo-drones to overload the psychic cores of the hijacked Eldar vessels, causing them to explode with the Heretics inside them. However, the Chaos Lord and some of his lackeys survived. Leaving behind his first Captain, a veteran Terminator named "Ouroboros", Barazan fled to the webway with an Eldar vessel. I do not know where he went."

" And what of the Eldar? Surely they must have noticed all of the commotions?"

"Yes, they responded quickly as of their capricious nature. They killed off all the Heretic Astartes they saw at their space-port but seem to be unaware of the retinue Barazan left behind. Hopefully, they've seen the corpses I left behind now."

"Can we expect this Barazan to return with a larger bulk of reinforcements to assault the Craftworld?" Asked Tertullian.

"Of course. That is why I am going to personally strike an alliance with their ruling council and have our fleets and have your battle-brothers assist in Iybraesil's defense. If they refuse to cooperate with us, then I will force them to."

"Shall I bring the _Los Pepes_ and our Exorcist companies as well?"

" Yes, please do. Now, I shall instruct you about the further plans I have devised to deal with their invasion…"

Roughly half an hour passes in Solar time as Andron concludes the strategy for the oncoming invasion of Iybraesil.

"Pass this information to the other Captains and make sure my instructions are followed to the closest detail. Our success on our end is dependent on you, Captain"

"It shall be done. May the Emperor, grace you with fortune and providence, My Lord!" Said Tertullian as he does their homeworld's traditional fist and palm salute.

Andron responds by doing the same. The holo-feed then ceases as Andron leaves the platform as he departs to return to where Leothelia rests. Upon entering the room, Andron approaches the sleeping beauty resting on the bed. He looks upon her and her bright, crimson-colored hair. Her well-sized breasts rising and falling as she breathes with the weighty armor.

He caresses the thick braided lock at the left side of her face, feeling the incredibly smooth texture of every strand upon his calloused fingers. Leothelia is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, Xeno or not. He lays his fingers on the skin of her tender, pearl-white cheeks as his mind becomes enamored at the exotic beauty in front of him. Andron then looks at the necklace he lent her and quickly retracts his hand from her, as his breathing starts to become more labored.

_Leothelia resembles her, doesn't she? It's why you held back against when you could've easily dispatched her with a swift strike. Don't deny it, the resemblance is very remarkable! As sweet and as graceful as she was before that fateful day!_

"Shut up! I don't want to relive that anymore quit bringing it back up, you prick! Let her rest in peace!"

Andron quickly unsheathes a knife from his side and stabs the palm of his left hand, blood dripping continuously from the punctured hole only for the hand to spasm and react wildly as it quickly seals the wound while morphing into a non-human form.

_That wasn't a very bright idea coming from you. Injuring your body will not harm me in any way. I AM YOU! An essence of you that was conceived when you decided to take up the mantle of leading your people from the ashes of ruin! To reject me is to only reject yourself and your past!_

"Just quit being a huge thorn up my ass! I speak to you only when I want to_!"_

_Hmph. Fine with me then._

Leothelia then stirs as she hears twin voices arguing with each other. Andron notices her squirming movements and proceeds to wake her up by shaking her lightly.

"Leothelia! Leothelia! You must wake up, we have your Craftworld to save!"

"Ugh... Mother, no… Not yet, training is still tomorrow…" Said Leothelia as she cutely tugs a nearby pillow to embrace.

"RISE AND SHINE! TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE" says Andron as he bangs a blunt object against a Space Marine pauldron.

It seems that Eldar sleeping cycles go easily undisturbed despite any external disturbances, much to Andron's dismay.

"Oh dear, she better not be in a coma… Now, how do I wake an Eldar woman up without causing an outrage?" Said Andron nervously as imagined multiple methods to fulfill the task.

He thought about caressing the Eldar's ears but knowing for a fact stated in the highly-restricted _Ordos Xenos_ documents containing information about Eldar physiology, that would only potentially arouse the woman. Andron still rolls his eyes at the hypocrisy done by the Inquisitor that wrote the passage in the document.

Scratching that off the list, Andron decides to do the only way he believes would effectively wake her up. Grabbing a bucket of ice-cold water, Andron counts to three before unleashing his barrage.

"AHHHHHHH! THE MON'KEIGH ARE HERE! THEY'RE GONNA WIPE THEIR INFERIORITY ON US!" shouts Andron as he tosses the chillingly cold water at the slumbering beauty.

Startled by the freezing temperature of the water and the word "Mon'keigh", Leothelia quickly rises from the bed and sheepishly falls to its opposite side. Unholstering her Shuriken pistol, she blindly fires three shots from cover. Andron quickly dodges the deadly-sharp blades, as one of them narrowly lands a centimeter away from him.

Leothelia then begins hyperventilating as her deep-red hair drips wet. Andron glances at her from the other end of the bed. He then approaches her gently.

"Careful please, you nearly sliced my head in two. You collapsed an hour ago for no apparent reason. I tried to rouse you from sleep to no avail. Please understand that it was necessary to have done that."

Leothelia lowers her pistol as breathing returns to a normal pace once more. Andron then hands her a piece of cloth for her to wipe herself with. She then looks at the blond-haired man with an irritated expression.

"I fully understand the urgency of our situation but please… *shivers* Never do that again!"

Andron then takes her hand, gesturing for her to follow him outside.

"Come, let's not tarry any longer. We have to go to the armory and get you some better equipment!"

Leothelia nods as she departs the room. Along the way, Leothelia plays her palm on her forehead, still dazed by the sudden psychic trance that immersed her earlier.

"_Jayne"_ Said Leothelia as she suddenly blurted the name out of her mouth.

Andron suddenly twitches, his eyes growing wide as he slowly tilts his head towards her as he conceals his tightly clenched fist behind his back.

"Eh… Come again?" said Andron plainly.

"_Sw...Swe...Sweet… Jayne?"_ Said Leothelia as she rubbed her temples to relieve her discomfort.

"W-where… Where did you hear that name?" Inquired Andron as he approached her.

"Name? That is a name… I don't know who that is. I did not such a name existed" Said Leothelia as she tapped her cheeks lightly with her palms.

"N- Nevermind that. The armory is just around here." Said Andron as he turned around and continued walking forward.

Unbeknownst to Leothelia, a few drops of tears leave his eyes as he yet again recalls the events of that tragic day so many years ago. A day, that the passage of time has yet to allow him to emotionally and mentally recover from.


End file.
